Sagacity
by WriterNicole
Summary: Loki's known as the God of Mischief, Lies, Fire, and Chaos—but he's starting to seem like the God of Secrets. When a brilliant, powerful psychic with a penchant for dark magic finds out what he's hiding, it gets complicated. A new layer in every level of complication. And Thanos is coming any day now.
1. Prologue

**This is set one year after Avengers, one year before TDW. Enjoy!**

******_-~*o*~-_I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING EXCEPT CARLY. IF I DID, THERE WOULD BE A LOKI MOVIE. ****_-~*o*~-_**

* * *

**Prologue**

Loki is bored for the seventy-sixth time that hour.

That's more than once per minute.

It would be easier, perhaps, if these books were about magic. Then he could concentrate—learn something, maybe. Not be wasting his time.

For when Loki is bored, the darkness begins to creep in around the edges. Darkness he can no longer control. And was he ever its master in the first place?

Loki sighs, closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. _Thanos_. When will he come? Loki resists the urge to finger his dagger. The one dagger he has left. Instead he reaches out to sense his magic—he can feel it, green and alive, powerful and shimmering and _waiting_, waiting for him, just outside the barrier.

What a nice surprise it will be for the Allfather. Loki smiles—the smile is dark, and tinged with insanity. Perhaps Thor was right—he _is_ insane. _Considering _everything—Loki is, perhaps, slightly surprised it took so _long_—took so much _pain_.

Loki snaps out of it. He cannot let Thanos win. He will be free to go insane, crawl away and die—_after_ he kills Thanos. Not before.

Loki can feel it surging—can feel his power, calling out, seeking him while it waits. Only he can sense the nearly transparent tide of power—tinged with signature green— that roils outside his cell. Not even Frigga knows that Loki has never lost his magic. It was never taken from him. The Allfather no longer has the capacity. Loki's smile widens. _Finally_. Finally he is the greatest sorcerer in all the realms.

But at what cost?

He could've escaped at any time, traveling to and from the cells. Instead Loki waits. He does not want Thanos to find him in a wasteland. He wants them all—to _know_. To know _everything_. One final revenge.

It has been a year, now. And still, he has not come.

And Loki's magic is suspended. Waiting for something to crack or release the barrier that imprisons him. Loki craves the rush of power—_strength_—that will come when his magic returns.

But for now, Loki waits.

Loki goes back to his book. Actually reads some of the drivel.

Then he hears it.

Shouts. Running. Tramping feet. The patter of machine guns, whine and whoosh of aircraft. Screams laced with panic. A distant structure, crumbling. All dim, of course, deadened by the underground prison walls. But he does hear it.

Loki stands, letting the book fall. He pulls out his hidden dagger. And he waits.

Thanos will never defeat him again.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Carly Raevyn grabs the first branch, gripping it with her fingers, the rough bark familiar beneath her black leather cut-off gloves. She pulls herself up and moves quickly, lithely weaving her body around the branches, knowing just where to place her hands and feet. Her muscles are strong and familiar with the choreography. Carly moves fast and lithe, like dancing to an invisible beat.

It's not long before Carly is perched high above the ground, patches of grass contrasting with the leaves. The blue sky is dotted with puffy clouds, the sun is warm and bright. Birds sing, squirrels chatter, a wind plays through her short brown hair, tossing the layers across her face, and she flips them back. Carly's probably too old to climb trees—eighteen, so she's supposed to act adult now—but she hasn't stopped and doesn't plan on it.

The tree is situated between a cornfield and a dirt road—Carly's dad will drive by in an hour. But for now, Carly is completely alone. A perfect place to practice, if she wanted to.

At first, it was fun and cool, with the allure of the unknown. Now it's just scary. It's growing—Carly can _feel_ it—and she has absolutely no idea what to do.

Carly settles down and wriggles out of her backpack. It's cloth, boasting a purposefully faded Americana print, with light leather straps. It goes nicely with her green camouflage tank top and black short shorts. Very lateral. Carly has always been pretty. Light brown hair, grey eyes that shift from green to blue in different lights, and deeply tanned skin.

Carly pulls out her smartphone and checks for texts. There aren't many. When she first found out, Carly freaked, and—among other things—turned into a snob. It was the only way to protect herself. Not that she hasn't regretted it every day since. But Carly can't be normal. _She's not._ Never will be, ever again. It's just impossible.

Carly tries to yank off her leather gloves while transferring her phone to her left hand. The glove gets stuck and Carly drops her phone. It bangs into the tree branch and she scrabbles for it but it slips past her fingers and plummets towards the ground.

Carly reaches out with her mind and grabs ahold of the phone. Instantaneous; impossible to explain; impossible to believe. But the black-cased smartphone returns to her hand.

Carly grits her teeth. She _can't_ do that. Can't use her gifts. _They'll find her._ She doesn't know who, or how, but she's sure that _someone_ _will_. And she'd lasted so long, too—nearly six months—but her smartphone…Carly can't afford another one.

So it's okay for her to rescue a phone, but she shies from the idea of helping _people_? Saving lives?

Carly leans back, closes her eyes and tries to calm the storm of emotions battling for supremacy. It's probably _right_, for her to go to SHIELD. Explain and demonstrate her abilities—offer to join them. But it's risky. What if they imprison her? Or worse, want her to kill people? Or steal things—technology, or secrets, or information? And what if they ask her to control people?

And that's assuming they'd believe her. Of course SHIELD would get crazy, unbelievable claims like this—probably every day. So if Carly didn't demonstrate her abilities to lots of people, she'd never get taken seriously.

It is said that with great power comes great responsibility.

So Carly waits. Waits—so far in vain—for another option to present itself. Acts normal. Snobby, but normal. Tries to figure out what's right and wrong. The psychic part of things she will never have an answer for. It's her gift—shouldn't she be able to use it? But isn't it violating someone's right to privacy?

Unfortunately, Carly is very good at it. She can even _control_ people. It's terrifying.

Even more terrifying to think about what might happen if someone found out.

Carly puts her phone away and pulls out a book. She's taken to fiction lately—real life is too strange and scary. For her personally—and the "Incidents". That's what the media calls them now. The "New York Incident" and the "New Mexico Incident".

Carly thinks maybe all those people in New Jersey should catch on, and move.

The press has gone crazy, trying to get information—for once not on the government's side—but the fact is, SHIELD has locked it down securely. The best Carly knows is that two princes from Asgard—Thor and Loki—really don't like each other, and Earth became their battle ground.

At the end of the chapter, Carly checks her watch. Fifty minutes left; maybe more, if her dad is late. Carly hesitates—but what the heck, she already ruined it, for today anyway. So she reaches out, identifies her dad in her mind and enters his head. She ignores the rapid-fire chatter and looks for the information—otherwise she might get lost in the swirl of it. And yes—he's going to be late. He knows Carly won't mind. She has eighty minutes left.

Carly slips away from him, feeling guilty and awful, like a thief. And maybe she is. She leans back and closes her eyes. Tries to get a better grip on things.

Suddenly, it seems as if the entire world shudders, or shifts. Carly's eyes fly open. It's like the sun turns neon pink, or goes out entirely. Carly drops the book and it falls to the ground, far below. She clutches ahold of the tree with shaking hands.

She is Aware.

_Someone is inside her head._ Seeing through her eyes, hearing her thoughts, able to control her. And Carly _knows_ it.

Carly tears him out.

It is a reflex—initiated as soon as Carly realizes how much she _does not want him there_—and Carly neither initiates nor stops it. Like ripping off a large scab—so easy, and very painful.

Then comes the bleeding.

Pain shoots through her head, white-hot, and jagged lighting shoots across her vision. Carly cannot scream. Cannot do anything but hold onto the tree, frozen, like she is electrified.

Then it's over.

Birds sing. Soft breeze blows through the tree leaves. Sun shines down gently.

Carly remains motionless. What _was_ that? And…_who_?

The sky cracks open. Blinding bolts of light shoot from the heavens and surround Carly. Vaguely she notices a complicated pattern being burned into the tree—but she isn't harmed—and then Carly is yanked off her perch, yanked upwards into a multi-colored, blinding, awfulness—_Bifrost_.

The name strikes her, hard, like a final confirmation that she's lost it.

But it's actually happening. She is—freefalling—no, it's guided, but she can't control it—bright, _bright_ multicolored lights.

Carly is thrown out of the blinding fall, and she lands on a hard floor. Instead of stopping—laying there—she rolls over and onto her knees. Body tense with fear—ready to strike even though she has no weapon—Carly looks up.

Her eyes narrow instantly. Now she _knows_ she's crazy. Or, this is one colossal mistake.

Odin Allfather, Gungnir in his grasp, stands near a podium. Watching her.

Carly gets up cautiously—taut with tension.

On the opposite side of the dome lies a man, crumpled against the wall as if thrown there. He's dressed in a simple tunic and pants, and seems to be all right—getting up slowly. He's older looking, clean shaven with grey hair, but still healthy.

In the center of the room, on a large platform, stands another man. He's drawing a sword out of—some kind of sheath inside a pedestal? He's middle-aged and dark-skinned, freakishly tall, with a beard. He's also wearing armor. Weird armor, too, like, straight from the Middle Ages—only different. Heimdall, of course.

Carly recognizes the Bifrost, Odin and Heimdall because she's read a mythology book or two. Only the books had no way to communicate the imposing presence of this man, Odin. The calculated coldness. The kingly bearing.

The other guy gets off the wall and walks towards them. He's still a good distance away.

Heimdall sheathes his sword. Carly senses that he is somewhat friendly, and his next words confirm that. "Welcome to Asgard."

The voice is deep and gravelly—which is somewhat surprising. Carly looks up into his golden eyes and sees stars reflected in them. Weird—but definitely _cool_.

Carly watches the other man make his way towards them. She doesn't have a name for him—doesn't recognize him at all. He looks calm, and wise, and—eager.

It's impossible to believe—that she's actually _here_—but Carly collects her reeling mind and stuffs it in her pocket. She also hates to admit it how terrified she is. These guys made mincemeat of New York and little Nowheresville place in New Mexico.

"Why am I here?"

Inside, Carly is freaking out, but she can still act. Has always been able to act. Her voice is cool and curious—nothing more or less, and her eyes wander around the dome as if sightseeing.

The man reaches them and steps slightly forward, as if to signify that he's in charge, and speaks. "You are very powerful, Lady Carly."

Carly is horror-struck, eyes wide and fastened on his face, staring. "I did _not_ tell you my name."

The man smiles slightly. "I'm a sorcerer, Milady."

Carly steps back slightly, folds her arms. "So who was in my head?"

"It was I," the man says. "That was quite a surge there."

Carly frowns. "Surge?" Like, as in electricity? Huh?

The man and Odin exchange a fleeting glance, and Odin frowns. He speaks softly, his words meant only for the other man. Carly can't hear, and her first impulse is step forward. Reach out and catch the words, cupping them to her ear so she'll understand.

Carly does not move, but her mind stretches out—reaches—and words pass her ear with a whisper of wind. _Personal favor…your responsibility._

Carly frowns. It wasn't as clear as she thought it would be. Without hardly thinking Carly reaches for Odin's thoughts, tries to get inside his mind to verify this. She slips easily into Odin's thoughts, catching his worries, his misgivings, his fear. She sees through Odin's eyes. Hears his thoughts, broken up and disjointed.

_She does not belong here. She is not Asgard's responsibility. Let the mortals deal with her themselves. Eldred's insistence—curse him._

Odin seems oblivious to her intrusion. This hardly makes sense, and Carly withdraws.

"So…Eldred?"

The man nods. "Lady Carly. Do you possess the abilities of telekinesis? Do you practice magic? Are you, what is commonly called on your world, a psychic?"

Carly folds her arms and glares at him. This isn't even legal. Would it count as a kidnapping? "Maybe. What's it to you?"

Odin sighs and steps forward slightly. "I am Odin. King of Asgard. Protector of the Nine Realms."

"That's very nice but not helpful," Carly snaps peevishly. Really, that was the most disjointed answer ever. This probably _would_ count as a kidnapping.

"Have you ever attempted the magics?" Eldred asks gravely.

"No." Carly glowers. "Now answer my question."

It only fleetingly occurs to her that it might be a bad idea to talk like that; then she dismisses it.

There is no answer.

Carly's getting very annoyed with these three. Maybe it's time for them to see what she can do. Before she can change her mind Carly steps forward quickly, raising an outstretched hand to move Odin off the floor—it works. Works far too_ fast_. Odin flies through the air towards the very tall ceiling. Carly screams and promptly drops him.

Odin hits the floor, hard. "Oh my God!" Carly shrieks. _Please_ don't be injured or mad or dead!

Heimdall helps Odin up; he doesn't appear to be hurt—Carly recovers her composure. "Awkward," she comments.

There is a pause, as they consider her. Carly feels like squirming but looks slightly insolent instead—it's their freaking fault. How was she supposed to know it would work that fast—that easily? She adds a touch of surprise to her face.

"I'll train you to control it," Eldred says.

A sudden realization leaps into Carly's eyes and she takes a step back. "No, no, no! Absolutely not. Send me home. Just—I can't be here!"

If there's anything Carly hates—genuinely _hates_—it's being trapped or coerced. Second on the list is having nothing to bargain with.

There is no response from the trio. Carly glances at her watch and reluctantly gives in to her curiosity. "Okay, fine. But I have to be back in thirty minutes."

Eldred glances at Odin, a familiar look on his face—_should we tell her_?

Far away—at the other end of the dome—large, heavy footsteps catch Carly's attention. It is the prince. Thor. Jane Foster's boyfriend. Defender of New York.

Carly has to wonder why Loki attacked it—what'd they ever do to him? Was it revenge on Thor?

He strides over to Odin, not even glancing at her.

"Father," he says, disapprovingly—unbelieving—his voice rolling like—just exactly like thunder. "She's Midgardian. What about Jane?"

"I'm not Midgardian," Carly growls. "I'm American." A slight pause— "Of Earth." Carly folds her arms, eyes on Eldred. "And your Jane has done quite well." Carly ignores the hopeful, boyish look in his eyes at her last comment—looks back to Eldred. "I really do have to go in thirty minutes."

Odin abruptly turns and walks towards the exit of the dome.

Carly frowns, looks between Thor and Heimdall and Eldred, who are _just standing there_ like idiots, and strides past them.

"Milady, do you know—" Thor reaches out and catches her by the arm.

There is a mild electric shock—running through her veins—and then Thor flies backwards through the air, hitting the wall with such force that it cracks and he falls limply to the ground.

Carly stares after him, mouth open—watches him stagger to his feet, eyes wide with shock. She spins around and finds a similar expression on Heimdall's face. Eldred, however, looks as if he somehow _expected_ it.

"What—was—that?" Carly gasps, looking at her arm like it sprouted daggers.

"A surge," Eldred says calmly. "This is why you need training. You have to learn to control it—and how to distinguish between friends and enemies."

"Anyone who touches me is my enemy," Carly snaps.

"I'm afraid you may have stay a long time," Eldred says.

"What? No! I have a life," Carly snaps. "I can't just leave my family! What happens to my career? I have to go back!"

Eldred is empathetic, but firm. "You'll understand in time."

Carly stares at him, unbelieving. She whips around—Thor is regarding her with suspicion—Heimdall is emotionless—and she knows her only chance is the king. He doesn't want her here anyway. She takes two steps after him and Eldred reaches for her.

Carly whips around, fixes burning eyes on Eldred—_daring_ him to touch her—and watches him recoil in shock, yanking back his arm like he got burned, eyes wide.

What can _that_ mean? Why—was it her expression? Her unspoken threat? Her eyes? _What?_

Carly loses her anger, wondering if maybe she _did_ something to him without realizing it. He didn't touch her though. Why would he react that way?

Carly tilts her head, puzzled—reaches out again—seeks the information by filtering Eldred's thoughts. She comes up with one word.

**Loki. **

_What?_

Carly frowns, not understanding _at all_, and runs after Odin. He walks out of the dome, out onto a bridge, multicolored pattern, shifting and changed, color flooding from where his feet walk. Carly runs after him, hopping in surprise at first when sparks of color explode under her feet.

The sky—so beautiful, with stars and galaxies and nebulae, right in the middle of the day. Farther away it's brighter, but here on the bridge it's like twilight. The bridge and the dome are both far above a void—Carly stays pointedly in the middle of the bridge.

Odin's heading towards a horse—three of them, waiting away from the Bifrost dome. Far off in the distance—a golden city built on top of cliffs. Amazing.

Suddenly Carly is seized with regret—there's so much she wants to learn about this place. Apparently Jane's book only scratched the surface—and it was more about science methods anyway. But her family—Carly can't just, disappear like that. She won't do that to them.

Carly glances down at her watch—Dad'll be at the tree in seventy-five minutes…

Odin mounts a horse and rides away towards the city.

Carly looks cautiously at the horses. They're large—look really fast. One is white, the other grey. Carly walks up to the grey one and pats it cautiously. There's no way she can hop on this thing—but she has to catch Odin. Carly grits her teeth, concentrates, and levitates herself off the ground.

It's crazy—she wobbles around and jerks—falls and just barely catches herself—but finally maneuvers her way over the horse. With a sigh of relief she drops onto its back.

The horse had been ignoring her, but now he rears and jumps forward, prancing and neighing around on the bridge. Carly grabs his thick grey mane and hangs on for dear life. The horse cavorts for a moment—then runs straight towards the edge of the bridge.

"No! Whoa! Stop!" Carly yells, kicking the horse and grabbing for the reins. He keeps running. Just at the edge, the horse stops and rears high into the air. Carly holds on tightly, looks down at the endless space, the stars below them.

But the horse wheels, and gallops off down the length of the bridge—after Odin.

Carly breathes a sigh of relief—it that's possible when you're riding a huge, hyper, horse, galloping down a rainbow bridge with wind whipping in your face.

This horse is galloping, and Odin's is only cantering, so Carly catches up faster than she'd like—she only just manages to grab the reins when the crazy horse dashes _past_ Odin.

Carly sits up abruptly, hauling on the reins. "Whoa," Carly calls firmly, lowering her voice.

The horse stops immediately, still prancing with eagerness for a run, but he obeys. _Listens_. Carly's mouth opens in shock before she recovers. "Good boy," she says hesitantly, slapping his solid neck. She looks around for Odin—a little behind her, and catering up fast.

Odin passes her with only a sideways glance. He looks like he's thinking hard.

Carly nudges her horse to go, holds him back so they match Odin's pace.

"I have to go home," she says loudly, firmly so he can hear her.

Odin doesn't even look at her.

"You're right—I don't belong here."

Nothing.

Finally Carly resorts to begging. "_Please_. I have a family."

Still looking straight ahead, Odin says, "Go back. Talk to Eldred. That's his horse."

"You're supposed to be a king!" Carly yells in frustration. "Since when do you kidnap people?"

Odin merely looks at her. Carly's so frustrated she feels like crying.

Instead Carly reaches for Eldred's mind, trying to find out if there is any hope.

She gets lost in a tangle of confusion, spells and information, thoughts and worries, and—_spells_.

A plan forms. Rudimentary, to be sure, but Carly has to do something. She finds a teleportation spell inside Eldred's mind. Memorizes it and withdraws.

It occurs to Carly that it might be dangerous—that it most likely won't work—but she has to try it.

Carly concentrates, weaves her fingers together, mutters some words, visualizes her tree, and performs the spell.

With a flash of black mist, Carly and the horse—the horse?!—disappear.

They reappear in the middle of an alley—no one else is around. Everything's gold, though—still in Asgard.

The horse neighs and skitters off to the side. Carly looks around and nearly screams in frustration. It was supposed to teleport her _home_! To earth!

"_Damn it all_!" Carly growls, swinging the horse around in a tight circle to get a good look at her surroundings. She nudges the horse towards a bigger-looking street—she's really gotten the hang of riding. Unless, of course, this horse is just really good at guessing what she wants him to do.

Carly rides the horse out into the main street—sees people, maybe some sort of marketplace. The first thing she notices is their clothing. The women mostly wear dresses, ornate looking, with strange styling. The men all wear tunics and breeches—some of them wear armor. The children, smaller versions of the adult clothing.

Everyone stares like inquisitive cattle. At first Carly feels slightly self-conscious about her clothes—camo tank top, black shorts—but she dismisses the feeling and nudges the horse down the street. She seems to be freak of the day here, so Carly stops the horse next to a guy in armor. "Hey—this is Asgard, right?"

After a long moment, he nods. Carly spurs her horse on.

"Halt your steed," the man commands, running to catch up.

Carly takes one look back and kicks her horse. She has no time for this—and she can see the Bifrost in the distance. The horse surges ahead eagerly, leaving the man in the dust.

Carly can hear shouts behind her—maybe running away wasn't so smart—but she just clings to the horse and guides him as best she can through the crowd. Mostly, though, people jump willingly out of the way, then gape as she passes.

The shouts grow louder. Carly looks back and sees a large number of men—in armor—pursuing her. A few have swords out.

Terrified, Carly kicks her horse again and he leaps forward. She just has to get back to the Bifrost—can't risk teleporting again. No telling where she'd end up.

Carly gains a good lead on them, and she is nearly out of the crowd when someone steps forward and grabs ahold of the horse's reins, hangs on as the horse screeches to a stop, rears and plunges.

"Hey!" Carly yells, kicking her horse, and he tries to go forward but the person hauls the reins out her hands. "Let go!"

Finally the horse stops, sweating and prancing.

The person is a woman—tall, dressed in armor, long black hair in a high ponytail. "No." She says it firmly, acts with authority. "Isn't this Eldred's horse?"

"Long story!" Carly yells. "Now-let-go! They're coming!"

The woman gives her a look—seems to notice her for the first time. "A mortal? How did you get here?" she frowns.

Carly is so sick and tired of _everything_, she snaps and yells. "I got _kidnapped_! You freaking damned_ idiot_! Let go of my horse!"

"You can wait here until we figure this out," the woman says firmly. The men pursuing Carly are getting closer, and other people are crowding in around the stopped horse. "Why are they chasing you?"

The woman reaches up and grabs ahold of Carly's wrist, firmly.

Carly tries to yank free, and then there is the slight tingle of electricity through her system and the woman is blown backwards, crashing into a group of people, hitting her head on some armor and landing limply on the ground. The horse screams and rears—people start shouting and stumbling away from her—Carly kicks the horse. "Go!"

The horse dashes away. Carly yanks the reins left and right, guiding him through the streets arbitrarily. They gather speed, but she can still hear the crowd behind her and Carly forces a hard right turn. The horse takes it fast and sharp, jerking, and Carly flies through the air and hits a building.

The building shakes, cracks snake from where she landed, and Carly gets up, dashing away. Watches in slight horror as the building crumbles. That should be impossible…

A whoosh of aircraft overhead, Carly ducks into the shadow of a building and shots spray into the dirt. The shouts are getting closer and her horse is nowhere in sight. Are they after her because she stole Eldred's horse, or what?

Carly ducks into the nearest building and goes directly down stairs, running as fast as she can without tripping. Shouts behind her—how did they find her so quickly? Running feet and clanking armor.

Carly reaches the bottom of the stairs, takes a quick look around—it looks like some kind of dungeon—and whips back to face her attackers.

Just one of them. A large, heavy man, with crazy long red hair and a beard. Carly runs out a little ways into the dungeon.

"Stop in the name of Asgard!" the man calls.

"Turn around!" Carly screams, pointing toward the exit. "Leave me alone!"

The man is taken aback for a second, but continues. "Stop!"

Carly whips back around to find the man almost on her. He runs forward, raising the butt of his sword to smash her on the head. Carly ducks and rolls under the blow, stretching out her hand and sending the man back firmly into the wall—headfirst.

The man slumps, completely limp, and Carly vaguely hopes he isn't dead.

Carly's momentum keeps her rolling until she hits a wall. She looks up.

Carly's wide grey eyes meet startled green ones.

* * *

**A/N: So what do you think? I mashed chaps 1/2 together and changed a bit. Another thing, I'm new and I can't figure out how to put in breaks or lines across the page. Help! And while you're dashing off that incredibly helpful explanation, review?**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter was _miserable_ to write! I slaved over every line. **

**Enjoy! ;)**

_-~*o*~-_

**Chapter Two**

Carly scrambles up onto her feet. "Oh. Hi. Um." She looks closer. "Wait…you're…" Carly trails off in disbelief. _Loki_.

Well, apparently Thor won, because this looks like Asgardian prison.

"Who. Are you," Loki snarls through gritted teeth.

"Judging by your reaction, not who you think." Carly turns back to look at the staircase, but no one else is coming yet. She gives Loki a sideways glance—can't help but notice his right hand, held slightly behind his back. The way it's positioned suggests a knife rather than something heavier.

Loki moves his hand slightly and it comes into view empty. He paces quickly to the other side of the cell, picks up a book on the floor, and sits back down to read.

Obviously it's an act—he's still tight in the shoulders. But what can that mean? Who is he afraid of?

Carly reaches out reflexively, searching for answers in Loki's brain.

She hits a blank wall.

Carly frowns and tries again. And again. Still, she cannot sense any thoughts or feelings behind that wall.

Loki looks up at her, one eyebrow slightly raised, lips curled in scorn. "A _Midgardian witch_. How amusing."

Carly bristles—she can't help it—she should be acting, but that scornful expression is so damn irritating—

"Did you_ really think_ you could access my mind? The greatest sorcerer in all the realms?"

Sorcerer…Carly steps forward, drawn by an idea, eyes alight with hope. She pauses, considering; decides it would be best to be blunt.

"Hi. Carly. I'm not a witch. I'm psychic and telekinetic and God knows what else. I need help."

Loki goes back to his book and Carly thinks that he is genuinely not interested.

Shouts and tramping feet; Carly instantly transforms into a hunted creature. She looks around the dungeon—the choices are painfully few. Probably most of these humanoid-(ish!) creatures don't even speak English. Carly flings one last glance at Loki—he does not move but Carly knows he is listening. She glances at her watch. "I have to get home, okay? In, like, an hour."

Carly steps forward and reaches towards the cell—golden, transparent, weird—and definitely breakable. The gold isn't opaque, nor is it completely transparent—it's an intricately webbed, translucent pattern. Her fingers brush the surface—nothing happens. Carly is just about to draw back and hit the thing, to see if it will give, when sparks explode from the wall.

Carly jerks her fingers back with a sharp cry, shaking them in the air to get of the tingly electric feeling.

Loki laughs quietly, without even looking up.

"What _is_ this thing?" Carly yells, looking around for a tool to hit it with, or maybe a control panel, something.

"Magic."

"Okay, _thanks_," Carly says sarcastically. She opens her hand and reaches out with her mind, and the man's sword flies across the room. Carly lets go with her mind and the weight of it crashes down into her hand. Carly drops the sword and hops away from it clattering on the ground.

"_Gods_," she gasps. How do they _use_ that thing? It must be thirty pounds!

"Are you in, or what?" she snaps at Loki, looking around for something else to use.

Carly senses movement behind her and turns to see Loki already standing. He yanks a knife from his clothes and throws it at Carly in one swift movement.

Carly has no idea where it comes from, how she knows what to do, or why she reacts at all, but as Carly ducks away she throws up an invisible shield. Carly is beginning to accept her abilities—it appears she has no other choice.

The knife cartwheels into the golden wall and cuts through it like butter—then stops, the gleaming black hilt firmly imbedded, an inch of blade protruding on Carly's side of things.

While Carly stares at Loki, she vaguely realizes that it wasn't meant to harm her.

Sparks fly from the golden wall, consuming the knife, growing in size and ferocity. Finally, in a flash of light, with a noise not unlike that of an electrical short, the wall explodes and disappears, falling away into the air and fading.

Loki steps forward, his movement quick, powerful, and predatory. He grabs the knife and steps out into the corridor. Almost instantaneously, the wall fills itself back in, and Loki transforms. Instead of just green and brown leathers, he's also wearing armor, a green cape, and a gold helmet with horns.

Carly raises her eyebrows and lowers her shield.

_-~*o*~-_**LOKI POV**_-~*o*~-_

The girl is impossibly _naïve_.

She doesn't even look _afraid_, stupid child.

Still—Carly's power. Her raw, uncut, unfocused blunt _power_, is sizeable. Judging from the look on her face, the girl had never thrown a shield before.

But she was trusting enough to lower it.

She might be useful.

So Loki does not stab her, does not transport himself to another realm while she lies on the ground with her lifeblood and power bleeding out onto the stone floor.

He nods, tersely. "Carly of Midgard. I will assist you."

"Why?" the girl asks, her tone biting with scorn and suspicion.

Well, it would have been _too_ easy if she'd just accepted.

Loki smirks. "I hate Asgard. What more reason, than that?"

The girl folds her arms and studies his eyes.

"I don't believe you."

Loki glances down at his dagger—metal blade, shiny black stone handle—and shrugs; looks back at Carly.

The girl is, surprisingly, still unafraid.

Suddenly a shout is heard from the other end of the corridor, and two guards run towards them. They're wearing the characteristic Asgardian uniform—golden armor, golden cape, golden helmet. One with a spear, the other a sword.

Loki whips around and runs towards them. He is slightly surprised—and annoyed—to find the girl running next to him. When they are nearly close enough for the guard to throw his spear, the girl raises her hand slightly and the guards are knocked off their feet.

Loki pounces, stabbing them both in the throat. Their yells and struggling end in choking, gurgling, and spurts of warm blood. Loki recovers two more knives, sticks them in his belt, and leaves the rest.

Loki ducks down the next long corridor and runs down it, halfway, before stopping to listen. Sure enough, there are shouts, and running, and the clanking of heavy armor. Panting, Loki turns a half-circle, and seeing no opposition, waits for them to catch up. This is where he will kill the rest, before moving on.

Then he notices the girl is still there—her grey eyes carefully guarded, waiting to hear his plan.

"I thought you didn't trust me."

"I said I didn't believe you, there's a difference." The girl quietly observes the prisoners around them, then glances back at him, and her eyes are now calculating, cool like stone.

"No, there isn't." She won't be the first, at least. There have been many young fools who dared to place their trust in the God of Tricks.

"We may as well work together," the girl says.

Loki nearly rolls his eyes—how clichéd. "I will not help you."

The shouts are getting louder—there will be many of them.

The girl glances over at the main passageway. "You may not be obligated to defend me, but I can duck behind you, and you're an excellent distraction."

Loki is struck by how simply _effective_ her plan is. His green eyes harden. "I _will_ kill you."

The girl laughs. "You might try."

Loki ignores her—he has other things to be concerned about. Namely, Thor. He should just teleport to another realm, but—

"Why are they chasing you?"

The girl makes a face. "No idea. I was riding Eldred's horse, and I didn't stop, so—I dunno. But I don't exactly blend with a crowd, here."

Loki's eyes narrow, an idea formulating. "Notice anything out of the ordinary, by happenstance?"

Carly snorts. "What's _ordinary_?"

Loki whirls on her, grabs her by the throat—she's surprisingly light—and slams her up against the wall between two cells, his other hand holding a dagger above her heart.

"Who. Are you," he snarls.

The girl's eyes widen slightly, and there is a shock like nothing he has ever experienced, a blinding light in front of eyes he cannot close, pain as the back of his head cracks solidly against marble, his body slumping limp to the floor, steps underneath him, and a wave of grainy darkness—

Loki shoves it away and gasps air, blinks fiercely, latches onto the blank white ceiling above him. He _must_ stay conscious.

Finally his vision focuses, and the pain smacks down again. Loki concentrates and pulls up a healing spell. In his mind's eye he watches it shimmer, a green mist in sunlight, and he casts it. Relief washes over his aching head.

The girl's face comes into focus.

"That was stupid," she comments coolly.

Loki does not move, listening for the tramp of feet.

"What—do you expect me to feel sorry for you? You're lucky I don't kill you. Get up."

Loki reaches for a dagger and gets to his feet, a slight smirk on his face. Many have tried to kill him before, and here he is. Most of them are dead now. The rest are on a certain list that has a way of dwindling.

"But I'm _not _trying to kill you, already. Come on." The girl stands back, flicks short brown hair out of her eyes, and turns to leave.

Loki steps down the stairs carefully, gritting his teeth. The girl has recovered his dagger—she holds it easily, but firm, and doesn't look ready to give it up anytime soon. He has two more, but that's not the issue.

Shouts and feet, closer—the clanking of swords and scabbards and armor—Loki turns slightly to see the group of warriors running down the main hall.

A shout goes up—then two and three, and a roar as the group peels off and heads down the corridor after them.

"Oh shit," Carly mutters, taking two swift steps backwards. Then Loki turns back, and they take off running. The girl is surprisingly fast—she can keep up, anyway. She holds the dagger with blade behind her hand, pointed up—it only reinforces Loki's snap judgment, that she is no ordinary Midgardian. He should probably kill her now—they turn a corner, and there he is. Loki screeches to a halt.

_Thor._

Loki's lips curl into a snarl as he grasps the dagger.

_-~*o*~-_**CARLY POV**_-~*o*~-_

Carly stops running. Thor is _right there_. Flaring red cape, hammer, battle face and all.

Both Thor and Loki stop running, then rear back in shock like they just got punched.

Carly does not miss the instant hate that crosses both faces.

Hate. Well, maybe not exactly. More like strong hate mixed with equally strong love, and hate for the strong love. And apprehension for the other.

Suddenly, Carly wants to _know_. Everything. What made them like this?

"Loki," Thor roars angrily. Reproachful.

"And, it's good to see you too." Loki's words are breezy, but his tone snaps and snarls.

Thor opens his mouth and Carly jumps in first, yelling to catch their attention. "Alright, _hold it_!"

Both of them jump a little. Carly quiets her voice but makes it absolutely firm, no-question.

"_Stop_, okay? I am currently being chased." Carly adds a bit of strain to her voice and watches Thor's face soften slightly. "Please excuse us."

"Go ahead, Lady Carly. This does not concern you."

"It _does_ concern me. With the Bifrost closed to me, I fear Loki's magic may be the only way I can ever return home. And make no mistake, I _do not_ belong here."

Carly hates having to implore anyone, but when the times require—she swallows her pride.

Thor stares past her, at Loki. "What is this, brother?"

"I am _not your brother_," Loki snarls, stepping forward.

Carly steps forward again, angling herself so neither can really attack with knocking her aside. She adds an edge to her tone. "I will ask again: _let us pass_."

Thor looks to Carly, stepping forward, arm moving slightly as if to sweep her aside. "I am afraid you are not aware of the grave crimes my brother has committed—"

"_Grave crimes_?" Loki spits. "I thought even you, _Thor_, capable of basic logic."

"_Don't you dare_ assume the extent of my knowledge!" Carly exclaims. Her tone is calculated to make Thor wonder what she _knows_. Now if only Loki would just cooperate…

The shouts and clanking grow nearer by the second.

"Move aside, and for God's sake _nobody touch me_."

Carly steps forward, right at Thor, and he moves aside rather hastily—angry blue eyes still fixed on Loki's blazing green ones. Carly guesses his plan—he'll let her go ahead, then grab Loki—or try. And when they fight, the walls will come crashing down around them.

She stops, fingering her dagger, wondering who will strike first. Wondering which way she would prefer to go—a knife in the neck, or a hammer smashing her skull?

Neither comes. Instead the first wave of warriors dashes around the bend, and the battle ensues.

Carly's first reaction is throw up a shield for herself, because other than that she has no idea what to do. No fighting experience whatsoever. She'd just get herself killed. And the idea of killing someone else…

She sees Loki whirling, dancing between the throng of warriors, slashing and stabbing, right then left and left and behind and in front, and blood—spilling onto the ground, warriors falling, the clank of swords that occasionally meet with Loki's helmet, or one of his twin blades, or both—or his armor—and then the cries of the wounded and the slump of soldier after soldier meeting his end, and the swirl of a mostly invisible, green-tinted pure _force_ as Loki casts a spell that brings everyone in his vicinity to their knees—

Carly grips her knife and steps forward.

She senses Thor moving alongside her, and cannot think of anything worse than him getting involved. Carly whips to face him, and Thor flies backward, far away down the long hall, veering off crazily and landing helmet-first into the wall with a solid _smack_, and chunks of rock break free and tumble around him, lying on the ground.

Carly turns back around to see the first wave of soldiers down, the floor slick with their blood, air heavy with its metallic scent.

Loki, standing in their midst.

Black hair wild, movements predatory. Twin daggers held firm but easy, he looks sharply for another attack.

Blood spatters on his clothes, but no visible wounds other than a slashed-open sleeve, a few beads of blood barely rising from the slashed skin.

When no attack is forthcoming, Loki bends and wipes off the knives on another's tunic, and steps out of the mess.

"Let's go," Carly says.

Loki eyes her sharply, looks around for Thor. Carly reaches out for his mind again, and hits a blank wall. This time, she throws words at the wall, on the off chance he can hear them.

_Let them think we know each other. Like, allies. They will go crazy trying to figure out who I am._

There is a pause, and then Loki turns and meets her eyes, one eyebrow arched in an expression Carly doesn't have words for, and in Carly's mind the words ring as clear as if they were spoken:

_Excellent suggestion._

And then Thor is there. Red cape flying, roaring angrily, hammer poised to smash Loki's skull.

Carly raises her hand slightly and Thor flies backwards, smashing into a wall again. But this time he's up considerably faster, spinning his hammer around to go up in the air, and Carly does the only thing she can think of. She reaches up and tears a hole in the ceiling. Chunks of rock and marble rain down, and Carly shrieks a little, throwing up shields to surround them both and the rock bounces off. Thor lands a little ways away, trying to get past the debris but not seeing his way clear, and when Carly sees the sunlight she reaches out with her mind, grabs both herself and Loki, and they go flying up, out into the open air.

When they are hallway down the street, Carly lets go and they both fall to the ground. Carly rolls over her shoulder easily and springs up. Loki thuds sprawling to the ground and scrambles quickly to his feet. They both look around quickly, and find themselves surrounded by a small group of warriors, ten or twenty of them.

Yelling, they rush in on them.

Carly yanks out her knife and starts stabbing throats. Forget about morals, Carly's just trying to stay alive. She falls quickly into a rhythm, copying Loki's method of _stab and step away, slash and step aside_—it is remarkably like an odd dance. Dancing with blood. And cries of pain. And the swords ready to ram you through if you can't move quickly enough.

Carly has no armor, no training, no experience. The only two things keeping her alive are her quickness, and the seeming reluctance of the soldiers to run her through.

But as Carly whirls, faster and faster, stabbing and slashing, dodging and ducking, she gets better, and faster, and her reaction time becomes more immediate, and she even begins to be of help to Loki.

Loki.

No one is hesitant to kill _him_. They try their hardest, and were it not for Loki's magic he would dead thrice over.

But as it is, he casts spell after spell, killing and maiming, knocking them down, causing swords and spears to turn into snakes that double back, strike and kill their owners. Turning shields in rabid hunting dogs that attack their masters.

And he is winning.

By the end of it, Loki and Carly are back to back, heaving with exertion, knives and clothes dripping with blood.

And Loki whirls, and pounces on Carly.

He does not touch her—he's learned his lesson—but he lowers his voice dangerously and prepares to cast a spell that will suck the life from her body.

"_Who. Are you_."

"Goddammit, Loki!_ I_ don't even know anymore!"

Carly's hands are shaking, cold bloody fists, one clenching a knife drenched in gore.

She just _killed_ people.

The realization is turning her body numb. Her stomach feels all fuzzy, and then it's roaring and aching, twisting within her, and her vision is going dark and grainy—

Carly snaps out of it.

Stares up into hard green eyes.

She _is not_ going to faint, because then she might get killed. And that's the one way this horrible day could become worse.

Loki whirls and strides away, down the street. And Carly follows.

And then she hears the roar of fury, and feels the rush of wind, and the splitting, blinding pain as she is flung off her feet and sandwiched between Thor and Loki, all of them on the ground in one furious heap.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, sorry for jumping back and forth between POVs there, but I felt like it was important to get this scene from both viewpoints. **

**Oh, yeah…guests can review, too! You don't have to sign up or add your email or anything! (One of the great things about this site.) Just type your review and post!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Am I the only one enjoying this? Sure seems like it. *hint hint* (whistles something horribly off-tune, kicks straw…) :) **

**Except, I had the MOST AMAZING Guest Review the other day! It was most helpful. (You're so right about Jane not having seen Odin and Heimdall yet…can't believe I missed that!) Thanks, whoever you are! :)**

**Chapter Three**

Carly is aware only of crushing pain—terrible, awful splitting pain—and then the slight tingle—and then a shock, and darkness all around her.

Pain in her head, pain so intense, so sharp Carly feels like her brain has been sliced into bits.

She shivers, the tremor sends shards of pain through her body—first burning cold, then blazing hot. Carly is lying face down on something rough and hard. Cold against her mostly bare legs. Her arms are covered in goose bumps. Her upper arm throbs—vaguely Carly remembers, how it was slashed wide open from bicep to elbow. But the pain is mild, compared with that of her head. Oh, her head! It's like someone _won't stop hitting_ _it_, smashing it over and over again with a cement block.

No one is, though.

Carly braces herself, and rolls over. The back of her head hits the ground.

The pain is so great Carly thinks she's passing out. It's all…_black_. Everything is black—black and fuzzy—but not so dark she cannot see how it swirls before her eyes. Carly stares up into the darkness, wondering just what has happened—is she dead, maybe? Passed out? Having a dream? A vision? But the pain is so great…

Her eyes focus better, and Carly sees it, the _blackness all around her_. Roiling, with something akin to distress.

Carly struggles into a sitting position, biting her tongue to keep from crying out. When the pain somewhat subsides, she tries to see beyond. It's like she's in the middle of a black cloud.

Carly reaches out tentatively, trying to touch it. She expects it to be cool and wet, like a black mist. But it's not. It's not tangible at all. Just—darkness.

Carly shivers again, this time with fear. She's alone, and her first instinct is to call out, but—what if she needs to keep hidden? Carly doesn't understand _anything_, and—she can't even see a foot in front of her—is she even in Asgard anymore?

_What's going on?_

The darkness swirls around Carly—warm—warm and easing away her tremors, the goose bumps vanishing, but it's not hot—no, just comfortably warm and Carly feels so light-headed she thinks it must be a dream. And the pain eases, slowly ebbing away, like a tide pulling out under moonlight.

Carly is ready to sink gratefully into oblivion, when she hears a shout. Far away, seemingly—echoing through the mist—a man's voice—the clanking of metal on metal—Carly's eyesight clears and focuses. There is still nothing else to see, but the pain has gone away and she's not cold anymore.

Carly stands carefully, reaching out for something to steady herself, but nothing comes into focus, much less brush her outstretched fingers.

And then, impossibly, it gets even darker. Roiling angrily, like the darkness is being sucked _towards her. _Carly steps back, and it swirls faster, faster and faster, disorienting—yet in the midst, Carly has the unreasonable feeling of calm. Like she's somehow in _control_.

And then the darkness, the blackness, collects together in one large clump—and heads straight for Carly.

Carly steps back, and tries to duck, tries to run, but her feet seem immobile, like she's in the middle of a nightmare. The wall of darkness rushes at her, and there is one horrible instant when Carly is sure she's about to die.

Then the blackness collides with her—there is no tangible impact—and seeps into her body.

Strength fills her veins, power fills her lungs, Carly gasps for oxygen and it's over.

Startling bright sunlight hits her, and Carly shields her face instinctively.

Then she notices that in her hand is a bloody knife.

Carly jerks back, stifles a horrified scream, and the memories comes back to her, everything comes back to her—Thor attacking Loki—Carly, unfortunately, ending up in the middle—they were in a pile on the ground and then—

"Loki?" Carly calls out without thinking, trying to look around, make sense of things.

Like a camera lens focusing, everything becomes clear.

A small group of warriors stands off to her side. Shocked. Mouths open, staring at her. Gaping.

Thor off to her left, crumpled in a surprisingly small heap on the ground, his red cape covering him like blood.

Behind her—a pile of dead and wounded soldiers. Carly looks away, trying to stop_ shaking_.

And to her right—Loki. Getting up carefully. A gash on his forehead; blood beading on his upper lip. Eyes narrowed, watching her like she is a rabid beast. Dangerous.

Carly cannot even manage a response. She gives no thought to her appearance, her expression, anything. She looks back and forth between her three options, and walks towards Loki.

"What was that?" she asks, surprised she can even talk.

"Funny, I was about to ask the same." Loki's tone indicates it is anything _but_ funny. His green eyes are narrowed and stony.

"_I _don't know," Carly mutters, turning back slightly. Thor hasn't moved.

Without thinking, Carly steps towards him, walking over to ensure he's alright. She's slightly surprised to notice Loki behind her, when she kneels over Thor and moves the cape away from his face with her left hand. Her right hand has not released the knife.

He's dirty, with a few gashes, eyes closed. But he's breathing, at least.

The group of soldiers breaks into mutters, shifting about.

"Thor," Carly says. Her voice isn't soft or pleading or singsong; rather, she barks it at him, like a slap in the face.

His eyes spring open—blue and clouded and angry—and Carly jerks back reflexively.

"_Loki_," Thor growls.

"It's your fault! I _told you_ not to touch me," Carly snaps. "Is anything broken?" She should be _running_ right now. On that thought, she glances down at her watch.

Ten minutes left.

_Is it possible_? Carly gasps and jumps up.

"I have to go, I have to go _right now_…" Carly gasps. "Loki! I have _ten minutes_!"

There is a slight touch on her hand, and Carly grabs the telltale electric tingle and _forces it down_, forces it away, controls it and _stops it_.

And there is a green flash before her eyes, and when it clears they are in the middle of a large building. Decorated handsomely—gilded halls, white marble. Loki is right beside her. He starts off, down the hall fast, and Carly matches his pace

"I'm pretty sure this isn't Earth," she gasps.

"I seek to repossess a certain item. Then I will take you to _your precious Midgard_."

"Whoa woah, hold it!" Carly cries. "_What_?"

Loki glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Do I need to repeat that in simpler terms?"

"No! What are you getting?" Carly asks.

"My birthright," Loki mutters under his breath. "None that it's any of your concern, _Carly_."

The way he bites out her name, makes it feel like a sin to have it. Carly is quiet for a moment.

"What is it, though?"

Loki does not answer.

Carly sighs. "Hey, I'm just going home! And I plan to stay there, so it certainly won't hurt _you_ to satisfy my curiosity," she grumbles.

"You are more complicated than you let on, and even if I did trust you, power has a way of getting sought out."

Carly frowns, determining to catch a glimpse of whatever this _birthright_ is.

"Do you know what happened, back there?"

"Yes. It is far too complicated for a mortal to even begin to comprehend," Loki growls.

"Fine. Break it down for me," Carly says. "To begin with, who—initiated it? Me? Or you? Or somebody else, or whatever? And what was it, and why, and did it enter me, or what happened, and why was it black and what was it made of—"

"Stop!" Loki snaps. "Be quiet!"

Carly does. Not because of the order, but the wary look on his face and the way it was delivered. Not just telling her to shut up—warning her to be quiet, or they might be discovered.

Carly looks around cautiously, reaches out instinctively and tosses the words into Loki's mind.

_What?_

Loki gives her a look, and slows to quiet, predatory pace, looking around uneasily.

Carly stops and looks back, aware for the first time of the blood spattered over their clothes. Red footprints leave a glaring trail through the white palace. Carly winces—her clothes are mostly okay, just a few spatters—her arms and legs and splashed with it. It's sickening, but on some detached level Carly is only thinking about her clothes. She wipes the knife and her hands off on her tank top—it's ruined anyway—and puts the knife in her waistband. As for actual wounds, there's just the slash on her upper arm, and it's clotting.

Carly looks back at Loki. He's sidled close to the wall, every muscle tense in readiness, his dagger in hand.

Carly slides her fingers around the hilt of her own knife.

A flash of movement, and someone steps out into the hall, just ahead of Loki. He springs forward—then, if possible, jumps back even faster.

It is a woman. Tall, with long blond hair. She's older looking—perfect posture—wearing a deep purple dress that sweeps the floor. In her right hand is a short sword, maybe a foot long, poised to attack—but she lowers it, looking more than a little shocked. Not to mention displeased.

"Loki?" she gasps, as one not ready to believe her eyes.

"Mother," Loki replies.

Carly can practically hear the layers that abound in their expressions, their reactions, the tones. It's clear Loki adores her—_Frigga_, wasn't that her name? At least if the myths are correct? But Loki, also—_really doesn't want her there_.

Carly glances down at her watch. Seven minutes.

"Loki," Frigga says, her tone disapproving, ready to launch into a lecture, or something.

"_No_, Mother. I can't. I cannot abide captivity, I'll go insane. _You know that_."

Something about the way he says the last words, cuts Frigga to the core. Carly, watching her reaction, knows. She sees Frigga's face whiten, her mouth twitch slightly, eyes water.

And Loki puts away his knife, steps forward quickly to hug Frigga with a fierceness Carly did not expect. He says something else, something so quiet Carly cannot catch it, but whatever it is, they break apart. Frigga says something else, just as quiet. Loki kisses her hand hastily, and steps away.

Then Frigga's bright blue eyes focus on Carly, and turn questioning.

Standing near a regal queen with hair to her waist and royal clothes that brush the floor, Carly can't help but feel slightly underdressed.

She's wearing black short shorts, a green camouflage tank top, and sandals. Her layered, dull brown hair doesn't even touch her _shoulders_, much less her waist.

What will the queen think of her?

And that's not even mentioning how Carly is spattered in blood. Mostly others' blood. With a _knife_ stuck in her waistband. _Gods_—it's true! She's basically a _murderer_ now.

Carly manages a weak smile, and steps after Loki.

"Hello. I am Queen Frigga of Asgard," the woman says kindly.

Carly bites her lip. "Carly."

"Midgard?" the queen asks.

"American. Of _Earth_."

Underneath the words is the insinuation that Carly longs to blurt: _We can name ourselves, thank you very much! NOT!_

"It was nice meeting you," Carly adds, taking another step. It's probably rude, but Carly glances again at her watch.

Five minutes.

"Loki?" Frigga says.

Loki turns, and Carly catches tortured green eyes, before they fade carefully back to expressionless. "Mother, _please_."

Frigga seemingly chokes back her questions, and nods.

Carly has to force herself not to jump forward and start running. She picks up a brisk walk and catches Loki. Voices echo in the hall behind them, and they both leap into a dash, running faster and faster, away down the halls, breathing a little easier when they turn a corner and no one else is behind it.

Carly chokes down her questions and runs like something incredibly evil is after her.

Loki stops suddenly, and Carly nearly skids trying to stop as quickly.

There is a flash of green—Carly tries to grab him but it's too late. Loki's gone.

Carly bites back the cry of anger—of course he wouldn't help her! There's no reason for him to do so. How childish of her to just believe him.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I am evil. So sorry! :) But yeah, so there's your explanation for Loki's…ahem…decidedly strange behavior. I'll bet lots of you predicated it.**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ya'll are awesome. Stay obsessed!**

**Chapter Four**

_-~*o*~-_

Carly begins to run. The halls are still mostly empty, but that can't last, given the freaking trail of _blood_ behind her. And now she's alone in this godforsaken place. Carly only briefly entertains the thought of going back to ask Frigga for help.

No—the queen allowed a criminal to escape because he's her son. Understandable of course, but it means that she's on his side—and Carly is truly alone.

Looking back at the trail of blood—Carly gets an idea.

She concentrates, and lifts herself off the ground. Very carefully—she has no wish to go flying up and smack her head on that marble. And it works. Carly is now a foot above the ground.

Cautiously, Carly moves herself forward. She has no great trust in her telekinetic abilities when it comes to lifting herself—she always over and under compensates for every movement. Sure, it could be fixed with practice—but Carly has no time, either.

Carly flies down the hall much faster that she expected. She stops abruptly about ten feet from the turn, because she didn't feel like going splat against marble. She guides herself forward a little slower this time, and rounds the curve easily.

This hall is even longer. And just as empty.

Carly zooms down it so fast she can feel wind, actual wind, whipping against her face. And as she screeches to a halt at the end, she gets an idea. She's been upright so far—what if she "flew" lying down on the air, face first, like everyone else seems to be fond of?

Carefully, Carly lowers herself to the floor and lies down on it. The blood seems to be mostly dry by now. Still lying down, she lifts herself off the ground. And moves forward.

Surprisingly, it seems to work a little better. Probably because of some weird aerodynamics thing.

_Aerodynamics_—Carly. Is. _Flying_!

Crazy.

The only downside to the new method is that Carly has no idea what to do with her arms. Flat against her sides? Shoved in her pockets? Stretched out in front, like she's diving? Out like wings? Dangling? Gripping the knife? Held up to protect her face in case she crashes?

Carly starts trying them out, and she's so focused she doesn't hardly register how well she takes the next turn.

Or what lies behind it.

When Carly hears the shouts, and registers that she is about to rocket directly over a squadron of soldiers—she jumps, shocked, and drops herself.

Time seems to slow as Carly falls. She sees the spears, the swords, the faces of the men. Their armor—not particularly nice to crash into. And Carly has just enough to stretch out her hand—they all go flying—before Carly lands smack on the marble floor.

The fall knocks the air out of her and Carly lies there gasping, clutching desperately at the air, pain sharp in her ribs and she vaguely wonders if she broke something.

Then she gets her first breath, and it hurts. Sharply. It scrapes down her raw throat and partially fills her lungs, and the second gasp hurts her ribs, and she's definitely broken something.

Then everything clears—vision, hearing, the feeling of the hard marble under aching ribs—and the survival instinct kicks in and Carly scrambles up, wheezing and clamping her jaw to keep from crying out in pain. She whips around in a circle, sizing things up, and realizes that she's basically dead.

Or captured.

Captured might be worse.

A flood of adrenaline and pain gush through her body and Carly yanks out her knife and backs against the wall, panting, waiting for them to attack. The downed warriors disentangle themselves and get up faster than Carly is comfortable with. And there's the almost musical scrape of swords clearing scabbards.

There's other options, of course, but right now Carly can only think of fighting.

And she grips her knife tightly, and waits for them to come at her.

It would be better if this was a corner.

Instead, the squadron pauses. Weapons ready—they wait, and surround her. None of them advances more than ten feet from her. Out of the corner of her eye Carly sees the gaps being filled, her escape routes being cut off, and terror spikes her blood again but she keeps it together and waits.

Still, they keep their distance, and maybe—just _maybe_—she can talk her way out of this one. She certainly doesn't want to kill them if it's avoidable, and she definitely doesn't want to _get_ killed.

"Sorry," Carly says.

There is no reply from anyone. They probably don't even understand English.

Carly slowly puts her knife back into her waistband, and shows the soldiers her palms.

"I…apologize?"

Still no response.

Yep, they definitely can't understand her. Carly frowns and tries again. "Uh. Excuso? Pardon?"

Nothing.

Carly tries to recall her Latin class. "Veniam peto?"

And again, nothing. If only she knew Norwegian.

"Well, if we don't even understand each other, why don't you just move and we'll both go on our merry way," Carly says. "Comprende? Comprendo? Understand?"

"Identify yourself."

The statement is so clearly and forcefully spoken, Carly is shocked—then angered they didn't bother to speak before. Well, he. One of the guys in the middle of the pack. He sheathes his sword and steps forward. No one else does the same.

Carly swallows—it _hurts_—and steps away from the wall a little.

"Carly. Carly of Earth."

Two of the warriors break off from the group and run down the hall. Carly watches them go with not a little anxiety, then blurts, "I don't mean any harm. Just let me go."

"Knee-deep in blood, yet harmless?"

Carly has no answer to that, and her hand itches for the knife. The tension is tactile and growing. The man steps forward again and Carly steps back against the wall—there is a slight flash of green and Loki appears.

Right next to her.

Carly jumps back, but Loki's hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. Carly contains her shock just long enough to subdue the 'surge'—there is another flash—and they are standing in the middle of the Rainbow Bridge.

Carly gasps, unable to believe what just happened.

_What_?

But Loki is paying no attention to her. He does not hesitate, just starts running for the horse.

The white horse. In the center of the bridge, waiting patiently for its owner to come back for it. Carly makes the connection—the horse is Thor's. Loki swings himself up smooth and swift, like the expert horseman he probably is.

Carly is right there—some instinct having driven her to keep pace, because her brain cannot process anything right now—and she vaguely hopes her telekinetic trick works better this time.

But Loki reaches down—rather absently—and Carly grabs his hand and jumps, landing behind him perfectly. As Loki kicks the horse and she hangs on to the saddle, Carly realizes—something's very wrong with this picture.

Why is Loki helping her?

He shouldn't be. There is no logical explanation for it.

He said he would at first, then changed his mind when she questioned his motives.

Carly eyes him, unsure as to the course of action she should take. What is she supposed to make of it? Well, she should probably not be this close, given that he's good with daggers.

So…slide off the horse? Get kicked in the head by those pounding hooves?

Use her telekinesis—shaky at best?

Try to teleport again? No telling where she'd land, but at least she'd be _away_.

Carly dismisses all three. Much more puzzling is the trap itself. What's the goal? Why would he do it? Why come back for her when she has no strategic value?

Well—what if she does have strategic value?

Carly is sick and tired of _not knowing things_. Not knowing Loki's history—what was so awful to get him in prison? How did he still get out so easily? Why did Thor react the way he did? Whatever is behind Loki and Frigga? Why is Odin so contemptuous of her, and Eldred so eager to teach?

She reaches out in her mind and surprises herself by first filtering Thor.

And Carly knows.

All of it.

The botched coronation. The journey to Jotunheim. Thor's banishment. The Destroyer. Thor coming home to find his little brother, for all intents and purposes, gone insane. The attempt to destroy Jotunheim, and their fight, and Loki's attempted suicide. And standing out like a bloody wound, the memory of Frigga telling Thor about Loki's true parentage.

Jotun. Frost Giant. Monster.

Carly comes out of it gasping with shock. The emotions were so intense and raw and vivid—the awfulness of it—the horrific pain.

Carly also reels with the information she has gathered. Jotunheim. Another planet. With Jotuns. And a history so complex Carly doesn't try to extract it. What is so monstrous about the Jotuns, or Frost Giants?

And, it doesn't even make sense. The Jotuns are blue and bald with carved skin, not to mention huge. Loki's tall—but so is Thor, and everybody else here—and he looks normal.

Carly has a feeling it's all too complicated for an outsider to grasp, especially in the two or three minutes she has left. But she goes back for more raw info.

The appearance of Loki on earth, his bid for world domination—_Midgard_, why does everyone here think of it as _Midgard_?—Thor's plea for Loki to return home, and Loki's refusal, and his subsequent capture by SHIELD, and then, _finally_, a clear idea of what happened in New York. And Loki's imprisonment and return to Asgard. And his trial. And a life sentence.

A _life sentence_!

Carly would run, too.

And that brings her full circle. Loki is smart and scary and devilishly cunning, a true trickster, and by all appearances thrives on chaos. Just like the myths. And he's probably bitter.

What does he want with her? How can Carly hope to keep up, much less compete?

They ride directly into the Bifrost dome. Heimdall and Eldred are conversing, but as they enter Heimdall draws his sword. The moment the horse is still Carly slides off, backing away from them all, trying to figure out how to activate the Bifrost to take her home. She glances quickly at her watch—she's five minutes late. Dad will be so worried—and she's covered in _blood_—

Heimdall starts forward, sword ready to attack Loki, and Carly is surprisingly torn—who does she want to win, and who would she aid?

Loki gestures briefly—almost offhandedly—and Heimdall goes flying across the room, smashing into the golden wall, dropping that giant sword with a clatter. And the matter is quite neatly decided for her.

Loki advances on Eldred, and Carly steps forward, afraid that he's going to kill him. Instead, Loki snaps, "What is this, Eldred?"

Anger and annoyance are quite clear in his tone, as he gestures back towards Carly.

Eldred shrugs and steps forward, speaking so Carly can barely hear him.

"She's powerful. I thought—"

Loki whirls abruptly, cutting Eldred off, and walks to the Bifrost podium.

Heimdall has nearly cleared the distance again, so Carly steps forward, raises her hand and smashes him back into the wall, then grabs his sword and drops it near Loki and the Bifrost podium with a clatter.

Then Carly realizes what she just did.

She's basically helping and protecting an insane sorcerer who tried to take over Earth.

Carly looks back to Eldred and enters his mind. Just what _did_ he think?

Images, pictures, and words come through to her, unfettered. Carly isn't quite sure what she's looking for, so she goes to forefront of his conscious thought and starts there.

And Carly discovers a plan. Half-formed and shady. The main ingredient being the three most powerful magicians to grace the Nine Realms.

_(Nine Realms_? As in, nine different planets, or nine different galaxies?)

Two sorcerers—Loki and Eldred, already in place. And Eldred's search for the third. A sorceress. She could be of any race, any blood, and there was but one requirement: she had to be the most powerful of the trio.

Eldred's elation when he found Carly. His misgivings because _she was Midgardian_. Quite frankly, because she wouldn't live for very long.

Carly pulls back in shock. Obviously there's been a mistake, because Carly _is not_ any kind of magician, sorceress, or witch.

Loki picks up the sword and slides it into the podium in the center of the Bifrost. To her shock, something that looks very much like an electric tree forms inside the Bifrost—and freezes solid. The dome begins spinning. Inside, the ground is stable, but the outer shell is going faster and faster.

"This is all wrong!" Carly shouts, walking towards Eldred. "I'm not—I can't—!"

She trails off, watching Loki. He steps back from the podium, the frozen electric tree, and looks back at Carly and Eldred. His face that of resignation—and anticipation.

Waiting.

Eldred steps forward. And Carly follows.

* * *

**A/N: What do you think Eldred's plan is? ;)**


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

They are nearly at the opening when it all stops.

The spinning dome shudders to a stop, groaning and shaking. The tree shatters. Bits of frozen light fall to the ground and vanish. Heimdall's golden sword lies on the floor.

Carly jerks around. Heimdall is only halfway to the podium. He stops running and faces the entrance.

Standing on the edge of the Rainbow Bridge, coolly watching them all—is Odin.

Gungnir, in his hand, seems to radiate a golden glow. Carly guesses that's what he used to stop the Bifrost with, because if she reaches out she can sense _power_ coming off the thing in huge crashing waves.

Carly isn't quite sure how to react, so she tentatively goes with flippant. But still, she waits for Eldred or Loki to make the first move.

Before either of them speak, Odin does.

"Why do you desire to leave?"

There is a brief silence, punctuated by Loki's laugh.

"What a mystery!" Loki mocks. He steps towards the Allfather in that predatory way he has.

Eldred steps forward as well, quick and urgent, doing his best to cut Loki off. "My king." He bends one knee, clasping a fist over his heart. "We wish to journey to Vanaheim."

Vanaheim?

Without half thinking—it's almost scary how quickly this is becoming a habit—Carly reaches out for information concerning this _Vanaheim_.

Frigga and Hogun both hail from Vanaheim—a land of gods. (Well, supposedly. Carly isn't sure what their definition of "god" is, or if she believes it at all.) But the Vanir are masters of sorcery and magic, widely recognized for their ability to accurately predict the future.

Frigga? So the queen of Asgard isn't even Aesir?

That's...interesting, at least. Carly doesn't know who "Hogun" is, and she doesn't take the time to find out.

"I will permit Eldred and his apprentice to leave. Loki is a condemned criminal who will be returned to prison."

Surprisingly, the thing that really catches Carly's attention is _apprentice_.

Since when did she agree to be anybody's _apprentice_? That's got to be a mutual agreement, right? And it's so…_Middle Ages_.

This whole place is surprisingly "Middle Ages".

Only then does Carly grasp what Odin just said.

Eldred and Carly, going to Vanaheim? And Loki, back to prison?

Ha. Not likely. Carly glances over at him, sees—amusement—on his face. Carly very nearly smiles at him—catches herself just in time, and looks quickly back at Odin. Slightly horrified at herself. She was going to smile at him! Applaud his intentions of escape! When that will only lead to dead Asgardians…

Carly resolves to mind her own business.

Only seconds later, Carly speaks and shatters her resolve.

"What would it take to make you change your mind?"

Odin's one eye pierces Carly through. Carly stands straight, if not tall, and stares him right back.

Odin does not answer for a long moment, and then the moment is destroyed as Thor comes flying along the Bridge. Somehow he can fly with his stupid hammer. Carly folds her arms and prepares for an explosion.

"Well isn't _this_ amusing," Loki growls, smiling in a way that looks more like a snarl.

If Carly is any judge of body language, there's going to be a massive fight.

And there she's lost. Totally adrift and floating, helpless and falling through indecision.

Where do her loyalties lie? And more importantly, who is "right"? Which side is she on?

Carly works quickly, gathering information from Odin and Frigga, trying to piece together an impartial picture of what really happened. Frigga is the most sympathetic, but their stories match. Carly yearns to enter Loki's mind, to fill in the gaps, to find out his motivations. But she can't.

"Loki," Thor growls.

"Anyone remember what happened last time?" Loki wonders aloud. He stalks forward, cornering prey.

Carly gets the feeling that while he's genuinely pissed—he's just acting at the moment. And really, is just _amused_. Because he knows something they don't.

Carly steps forward and reaches out with her mind. She doesn't want anyone dead, and certainly doesn't trust anyone here. She reaches to grasp Loki's knife—it is not there.

Neither is Loki.

Carly tries again, but the simple fact is, Loki is not standing there. It's an illusion.

Carly searches the dome. She locates Loki—invisible, but there—almost to Odin and Thor. And moving fast.

Without a moment's thought Carly relieves all three of their weapons. Thor's hammer, Odin's staff, and Loki's knives clatter at Carly's feet.

Loki's mirror illusion fades and he reappears behind Odin.

Thor and Odin's faces are identical mirrors of utter shock and disbelief.

Carly realizes they aren't shocked about Loki disappearing. That part was probably expected. They're looking at _her_. She glances quickly down, just to make sure they aren't doing anything weird, but the weapons lie still at her feet. Huh?

Carly looks back up and catches Loki's momentary surprise—then he laughs, outright laughs.

Odin and Thor jump. "Loki," Thor roars, turns on him quickly and grabs Loki's shoulder, but it's _not there_ and the entire Loki illusion fades in a wisp of green. Thor yells incoherently and jerks back around, looking for his brother, seemingly lost without his hammer.

But Loki's gone. No other illusion pops up.

Carly senses him, is careful not to look at him—he's invisible, but there—and she throws a single word at the blank wall of Loki's mind barrier.

_Go._

There is no sound, but she senses his chuckle.

What is he planning, and what should she do?

Carly steps over the pile of weapons and glances back at Odin.

"Just let us all go," Carly shouts, looking around as if she doesn't know exactly where Loki is.

There is no reply. Carly looks over at Thor, sees him raise a hand, and then there is a horrific smashing pain in her back, plowing her forward and she tries to hold her knife out of the way as she smashes into Loki—who materializes—and they both go flying into Thor's horrified face.

All three tumble out of the dome and onto the Rainbow Bridge.

Not _again_!

But at least this time she's on top.

The hammer is heavy on Carly's back, crushing her, and her bruised ribs ignite in sudden agony. Carly forces down the surge, reaches out and removes the hammer from her back, releasing it to thud hollowly on the bridge. Then she scrambles up and away from the flailing pile.

After a moment of shock, Carly realizes that Loki is punching Thor, whamming him over and over in the face, blood streaming from Thor's nose. And Thor is fighting back, and they're rolling around and Thor is stronger, but Loki is much quicker, and Loki always ends up on top, and they are rolling straight towards the edge of the bridge.

Carly mentally yanks them back towards the middle. She really doesn't want to get involved, but the way they're going at it they're going to kill each other if somebody doesn't do something.

And the rage. It's practically roiling in the air. The rage and fear and pain and love, and hate.

Talk about messed up!

Carly runs forward, trying to avoid the flailing fists, and grabs two fistfuls of black and blond hair. A stray limb catches her in the face and Carly grits her teeth, then yanks them apart as far as she can. Which isn't far. Carly lets her mind take over—it's actually pretty seamless by now—and the two fly far apart. Thor lands on his back halfway down the huge bridge. Loki flies up and whams into the Bifrost dome before falling back down, ending up on his back half-inside the dome.

With Odin standing right over him.

Loki scrambles up as Odin holds out his hand and his golden staff flies toward it.

Carly does not even pause; she reaches out as well. There is a slight resistance, a small tugging, but the staff wavers mid-flight and comes to rest in Carly's hand.

It is ridiculously heavy—but as Carly holds it, is she insane? Or has it become light enough for her to wield?

It glows golden, and Carly hears it sing with power, feels the humming in the marrow of her bones, tastes the sparkle of electricity in the air.

No, not electricity. Something sharper—yet more subtle—at the same time.

_Magic._

Thankfully Carly does not drop the staff as soon as she comes to the simple realization.

She looks up.

Odin is deathly grave, eyes singularly locked on Carly.

Oh, great. Maybe that was a bad idea.

Carly's eyes dart around wildly. She sees Loki—watching her with an unreadable expression—and she checks quickly to make sure that he is actually there.

He is.

And Carly nearly reels backwards with shock.

That simple act of reaching out—it's almost like someone takes a cover off her vision. Carly sees a slight tint of Loki's green magic, swirling in the air around him. She sees a bit of Odin's solid gold—sees it weakening, weakening steadily, draining away from his person and into the staff she holds.

And her own.

Carly looks down, and the staff is shrouded in black.

Carly drops it instantly. The black weakens, becoming a slight mist, and drifts towards Carly.

Carly gasps again with the incredible _loss of power_.

But somewhere, deep inside, she knows that power is not hers to wield. And with that, comes an idea.

And Carly picks it up again. She walks over to Odin and holds it hostage, out in front of her with both hands, firm in her grasp but ready to give it back, while she states her terms.

"How about a compromise?" Carly asks, her tone easy.

Carly has uttered no threat, has inferred nothing about the staff being a bargaining chip. But Carly can see magic again, and it confirms what she saw last time. Odin's gold magic is draining away, slow but steady. It drifts over to the staff and converts into black.

The king does not speak.

"I have to go home now, but I am willing to return," Carly says. "The three of us can stay in Asgard, or go to Vanaheim—whatever Eldred wishes, but Loki will be released."

Carly carefully ignores Loki, just behind her, and Thor—running down the bridge.

As an afterthought, Carly reaches out to ensure the hammer stays were she left it on the bridge.

"Loki will be returned to prison," Odin says firmly.

Carly does not say anything for a moment, letting it hang.

"This is supposed to be a compromise," Carly says quietly, her tone low and calm with a hint of threat.

Eldred comes up behind Odin—silver magic swirls gently in the air around him—and he speaks.

"We will stay in Asgard for the time being. Loki will be temporarily released for the initial training of my apprentice, during which time he must prove himself to be granted passage to Vanaheim."

"Clever, Eldred, but it's not going to work," Loki sneers.

Carly reaches for Loki's mind and screams into it: _Shut up!_

Loki does not even falter. "I won't cooperate. You of all people, Eldred, should know you cannot _make me_. So go on, _Allfather_: send me back to prison. Only, first you should probably know that _your wife released me_."

Every word is thrown like a dagger, and Carly can see the cruel, cutting impact on Odin's face.

* * *

**A/N: Hope ya'll like this. I'm totally open to suggestions!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

After a long moment, Odin's eyes return hard, boring past Carly and through Loki. "Lies cannot harm me."

"It's true," Carly blurts. "Frigga, isn't that her name? I was right there."

Carly can see how much Odin is physically weakening, and her words seem to crush his spirit. And suddenly she almost feels sorry for him.

"Heimdall?" Odin asks gravely.

The tall, quiet warrior has recovered his sword and stands to the side. "It is true."

Odin sighs, considering. Finally he speaks. "I accept your proposal, Eldred."

Carly nearly slumps in relief. But Odin is not done. He looks directly at Loki.

"Know this, _Loki_: cause any trouble, and your punishment will be doubly severe."

"Given that death is preferable, and my sentence is already as long as possible, I am sincerely interested in just how you plan to accomplish that."

Carly knows he won't listen but she throws him words again. _Shut. Up. You are only digging a deeper hole!_ Stupid, stupid…ugh, it's like Loki enjoys prodding things, poking them until they react.

There is no response, even though Carly knows he can hear her. Carly hands Odin the staff. He accepts rather graciously, with no hint of weakness, or gratefulness. Almost as if Carly was just fetching it for him.

Carly realizes that perhaps she is the only one who knows how weak the Allfather was.

She stores the information away for later use.

There is a small decrease of power, and she cannot see magic anymore, but other than that Carly feels fine.

So…Loki's magic is green, Eldred's is silver, Odin's is gold, and Carly's is...black?

Isn't black supposed to be evil, though? Bad? Wrong? Gothic and creepy?

Thor finally appears. He reaches out for his hammer—Carly quickly releases it, knowing she can take it back—and the hammer flies into his hand. All the while, Thor is watching Loki with a mixture of emotions raging in his blue eyes. Anger. Hurt. Fear. Apprehension.

"Hello, _brother_," Loki mocks, his tone laced with fury and hate.

_Why _is Carly protecting him? He's scary and way too smart and dangerous and not very nice.

It hardly matters though, not right now anyway. Carly steps away from them all and walks to the other side of the podium.

"Heimdall," she says, glancing behind her. The man is already plunging his sword into the podium. "It needs to be as close as possible," Carly says anxiously, looking down at her watch.

_Forty-five minutes late_.

"Oh…_shit_," Carly mutters.

"I will retrieve you in one hour," Heimdall intones. It's not much time, but Carly nods.

She looks down at herself—ugh. Dried blood is so nasty. And then there's the moral side of things that Carly's been ignoring. But showing up late, coming through the Bifrost covered in blood…Dad is going to flip.

Carly sighs and looks out into space. It's really very beautiful, the galaxies and nebulae and planets…what was it, Nine Realms?

Carly's skin tingles slightly and she glances at her arm—her forehead crinkles, trying to make sense of it. She's—clean. Looking down, Carly sees a line of green washing down over her feet, clearing all the blood away. And there's no gash on her arm, either.

Carly looks back up quickly and catches Loki's smirk—a mock salute, just before the Bifrost yanks her out into space.

Then there is the brief, blinding fall, and Carly is thrown out into a cornfield.

Standing up.

Huh. Last time she landed on her knees—but that was because she was in a tree—wait, the ground is weird.

In a huge circle, the corn is incinerated, and some kind of—_runes_—is burned into the dirt. It's a complicated pattern, still glowing with heat, and Carly hops out of the circle, looking around. She laughs with relief—there's her tree, right over there, burned with the same pattern—and it seems completely normal to talk to the sky.

"Hey, nice job, Heimdall!"

Still smiling, Carly picks her way out of the half-grown corn and runs over to the tree.

The smile drops from her lips. Her bicycle is under the tree—her dropped book lying across it—her backpack hanging up in the tree.

So where's Dad?

Carly reaches out and retrieves the backpack. Takes the knife from her waistband and drops it inside. She finds her phone and scrolls through the contacts. Biting her lip anxiously, Carly calls his number and puts the phone to her ear.

Her dad picks up on the second ring. "Carly! Honey! Where are you? Are you okay?!"

"Hey daddy…I'm sorry. I'm totally fine," Carly says, laughing nervously. "I'm right here by my tree next to the south field."

Carly glances back at the corn and grimaces. That's a pretty big patch that got destroyed… "So where are you?"

"Honey—something happened to the tree. You were gone. I called the police."

Carly feels like groaning and slapping herself. Ugh. No!

"Well, I'm back. It's okay. I'll bike home then," Carly says. "Love you."

"Carly!"

"Yeah?" Carly says, wincing. She pins the phone between her ear and shoulder, walks over, retrieves her book and gets on her bike.

"What happened? You need to talk to me. I've never seen something like that before. Where were you? What happened to the tree?"

_Same thing that happened to the south field_, Carly thinks, making a face.

"Can we talk at home? And…send the police away. I have a lot to tell you and Mom."

"I'll come get you," Dad says.

"Okay," Carly says, pedaling faster. "I'm on my way."

"Bye," Dad says, and Carly can tell he is unwilling to break the connection. "Love you."

"Bye," Carly says. It is now instinctive, to use her telekinesis to hang up and put the phone in her pocket. She winces—this is Earth, she has to remember to stop doing that!

Ten minutes later, a line of black SUVs passes Carly. She counts fifteen, and mentally groans—there's no way this is going to end well. She's leaving in an hour—not coming back anytime soon—but her family, well—the government is pretty efficient.

At the end of the line is her Dad's red truck. Carly beams at him, throws her bike in the back and jumps in the cab. He reaches over and hugs her fiercely. "Where were you?"

Her dad's grey eyes are genuinely worried—and relieved, of course. And his brown hair is all messed up. Whenever he's worried he runs his hands through his hair.

"Oh Daddy," Carly says. "I—I can't—"

"What's wrong?"

Carly pulls the car door shut, tosses her backpack down by her feet, and draws her knees to her chest. She finally slumps.

"Daddy—please…we need to get home _as fast as possible_."

Something in her tone, her posture—he gets the truck in gear and whips it around, driving faster than Carly has ever seen him do before.

"Carly, sweetheart, you need to talk to me."

Only isn't that just the problem? She _can't_ talk. No one would—no one _can_ believe it. Carly sighs. "I'm leaving again. An hour."

"_What_?"

"I…have to," Carly stammers. "I'm…just here…to say goodbye." Suddenly the temperature in truck is stifling, and Carly feels like she cannot breathe.

"Where are you going?"

Carly closes her eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache. Come on, Carly, _think_.

"I—can't tell you."

Possibly the worst thing she could've said, but somehow Carly can't bring herself to lie.

Her dad is quiet for a long moment, and Carly feels them increase speed. She looks up, trying to keep her eyes cheerful, but somehow they stay exhausted.

Carly is a murderer now.

She cannot feel or see the blood, but it somehow stains her heart, weighing on her soul.

And that very knife is in the backpack by her feet.

"I told you to send the police home," Carly says, leaning back.

"I described what I saw to the police, and they called the Feds," Dad says. "Carly, what's going on?"

They whip into their long gravel driveway, and Carly groans aloud. There are police cars and black Government cars _everywhere_. At least twenty more.

When they screech to a halt, Carly grabs her backpack and jumps out of the truck, slinging it over her shoulder and dashing for the relative safety of the house. Her dad follows quickly. Carly opens the door and runs in—smack into someone else.

A man wearing a black suit. Carly stifles a scream and jumps back, fighting for control—he's in the house! He's in her house! And suddenly an hour seems like a very long time.

"Sorry," Carly gasps, shouldering her way past him and running for her bedroom.

It's an uproar. Clothes, everything strewn all over the place. Probably looking for a note or something—it hardly matters. What matters is that there's another guy in her room—_reading her journal_.

Carly almost screams—_she wrote it down she wrote it down she wrote it down_!

Carly leaps across the room and snatches the journal from the man's hands. "Out!" she orders, pointing towards the door.

The man's eyes widen slightly. "Miss Raevyn?"

"Get. Out!"

Carly is dangerously close to a scream. Her finger marks the exact spot the guy was reading—it isn't very far in, so maybe he doesn't know—he doesn't seem to be _afraid_ of her, anyway. Just surprised.

The instant the man steps out of her room Carly slams the door, locks it and slumps against it. She opens the journal—nope, he hadn't gotten very far. Not far enough anyway. Carly sets the journal aside, resolving to destroy it. It was incredibly _stupid_ to write it down.

Great. Fifty minutes or something left, and she won't even get to say goodbye properly.

Carly huffs, walks over to her closet and digs through it until she finds her backpack. A real one, not the sack-with-straps she drops on the floor. It carries nearly three times as much. Hands on her hips, Carly surveys the room—there is _no way_ she's wearing ankle-length dresses. She bends down to grab a pair of jeans when there is a knock on her door.

It's quiet but firm, with a familiar tap-pattern. Mom. Carly yanks open the door and crushes her in a hug.

Only as an afterthought does Carly realize how worrisome that probably is.

Carly pulls her mom into the room, firmly closes and locks the door again.

"We don't have much time," Carly blurts. Oh great, just great Carly, awesome way to freak your mother out of her wits.

"I have to leave in less than an hour," Carly says, more carefully, watching her mom's blue eyes.

Of course there's a flood of questions, but Carly just hugs her again. "Mom. _I can't tell you._ Please trust me, okay?"

After that, Carly scurries around the room throwing the usable clothes on the bed, her mom folding them neatly and stowing them in Carly's backpack. It's a good thing Carly is eighteen now—otherwise there would be a huge fight about her just leaving.

Carly thinks back; it wasn't cold in Asgard, neither was it warm. Just right for jeans and t-shirts. Still, she packs sweaters and shorts, just in case they have seasons too. Carly gets exercise clothes and shoes. She grabs plenty of facial cleansers, soap, shampoo, moisturizers, lotions, and makeup. Then Carly throws the rest of the stuff back into her drawers.

When Carly is ready, she has ten minutes left. Finally she emerges from her room looking haggard, her mother looking very worried.

Carly's dad and a government agent are arguing. Carly walks over. Apparently they want to 'debrief' her…whatever that means…and her dad won't let them.

"Daddy," Carly whispers softly. He turns, and she hugs him, and then turns to her mom. Carly is surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes. She isn't even sure why. They'll be safe, right? Maybe it's something about leaving them alone with government creeps in the house.

Carly closes her eyes, fights the tears away, and says goodbye.

"Miss Raevyn," somebody says, "We need to talk to you. Come with us, please."

"You've waited this long, you can wait a little longer," Carly snaps, backing away from them.

"Miss Raevyn," the man repeats firmly.

Carly turns, and dashes for the door. She smashes it open, knocking it firmly into someone who was standing just outside, and the guy goes flying. Carly runs away, weaving her way between the black cars—the police cars have mostly gone—and ignores the shouts behind her. Carly runs behind the house, jumps a fence and dashes out into the middle of their empty field.

Working as quickly as she can, Carly yanks out her journal and lays it on the ground. She rips up the pages. Then she strikes a match—and watches it burn. The pages turn to black soot that drift away in the gentle breeze.

Carly stomps out the fire and looks back. The agents have paused at the edge of the field, talking into radios and phones, and more are pulling up. Her mom is crying. A helicopter hovers overhead.

Carly glances at her watch. At the very last second she turns back to the house, and waves. Then she looks up at the sky, reaches out with her mind, and pushes the helicopter out of harm's way.

Almost immediately, Carly is surrounded by brilliant light, and she shoots up through space.

Carly grabs her emotions, and shoves them, squelches them, forces them away—at least for now. When she stands on the floor of the Bifrost dome, Carly's face is carefully nonchalant.

Eldred is there. Just him, and Heimdall.

Carly isn't quite sure what to do, so she nods at Heimdall. "Thank you."

Heimdall nods gravely back, and Carly steps forward after Eldred.

"What happened after I left?" Her voice is cool—Carly really doesn't know how she's recovering so quickly, but she'll take it.

Eldred shrugs. "Not very much."

They reach the Rainbow Bridge, and Carly sees two horses waiting for them. Eldred's horse is grey, and Carly isn't quite sure how she feels about hers being black. She walks up to the grey horse and pats it—it snorts at her and she smiles. "Hi, boy," she says, patting it. "So what's his name?"

"Greyfell," Eldred says simply.

Carly nods, and walks over to her steed. "Hey," she says simply, letting him sniff her before patting him. He's big and beautiful, with an amazing black coat, so glossy it seems to glow.

"Get acquainted," Eldred says, mounting his grey horse. "He's yours now."

"Really?" Carly asks, thrilled. "What's his name?"

"Kohl," Eldred says, before catering away.

Carly reaches up, barely able to grasp the saddle, and with a little help from her mind, springs easily into the saddle. It seems to be pretty similar to the ones used on earth, and thanks to Greyfell, Carly has some idea of how to ride.

"Hi, Kohl."

Carly nudges Kohl and he responds eagerly, leaping forward with even more energy than Greyfell. She catches up to Eldred quickly enough.

"I don't think we officially met," Eldred says conversationally. "Eldred."

Carly smiles, surprising herself. "Carly…Raevyn."

Eldred smiles back slightly. "Like the bird?"

"You have those too?—but no, it's spelled differently. Kind of like, an old spelling for the color," Carly says, dropping her smile, searching Eldred's eyes for a hint of knowledge…does he even know that her power, or magic, is black or 'raven'?

He nods. "Ah. Apt."

He does know.

"So…is there something wrong with it?" Carly asks, trying to be nonchalant.

Eldred shakes his head. "It's…unique," he says finally. "But, no."

Carly gets the distinct feeling that Eldred is hiding something.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so I decided to change the color of Eldred's horse. It was more fitting. Oh, and "Kohl" loosely means black. I tried to look up some authentic Norwegian names, but like 40% percent of them I can't even read, much less pronounce! So Greyfell and Kohl it is. **

* * *

**Also: I am going on a church retreat this week. So last update for while! But I've got the next one ready to give ya'll right when I get back. :)**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: I had the most WONDERFUL time at my retreat! (Thanks tywingfieldtbs42!) Thanks for being so patient everybody :) Here ya go! Enjoy!**

**Chapter Seven**

As soon as the door clicks shut, Carly dumps her backpack on the floor and digs out some black skinny jeans and a t-shirt. Eldred's coming back in about an hour, during which time Carly is supposed to unpack.

After wriggling into the jeans, Carly pauses for a moment, trying to decide what to do instead. She heads across the room to the window and draws the curtains. The room brightens considerably. Carly fiddles with the window and throws it open, and cool air fills the room. The sun is just beginning to drop lower in the sky.

Well, if she can call it "the sun". It probably has a name.

Carly gazes out over her view. Off in the distance, fields. They filled with various crops, none of which Carly is familiar with. Some of them are purple, others red, but mostly golden—like wheat or corn. Even from far away, Carly can tell it's some kind of grain.

Beyond that is a forest. Carly is slightly relieved to see that it's green. The sky isn't very dark yet—it's blue, and much lighter here, than at the edge of the Rainbow Bridge. Just beyond the blue, Carly can still make out stars—lots of them.

Amazing.

Carly turns back and surveys the room. Carly specifically asked for a small room—they're so much cozier, and easier to keep clean—but by Earth standards, this one is still pretty large. An empty bookshelf, empty nightstand, empty closet, two empty dressers. A large, plush bed, and an attached bathroom. And a chair.

It takes Carly less than five minutes to get comfortably situated, so she walks around bored for about a minute. Then she opens the door cautiously, and steps outside. The hall is completely empty. Carly ducks back inside and puts on a hoodie, grabs her iPod.

Out of habit, Carly checks her phone—no service, of course. At least her watch still works.

Carly finds an outlet fairly quickly, and steps out onto the streets of Asgard.

Unfortunately—there's _people_ around.

Carly puts in her earbuds—picks something crazy upbeat—and yanks up her hoodie. A moment later she realizes that it might be perfect camouflage on Earth, but here it's like a gigantic, wildly flapping bright red flag. Shrugging, she ducks into alleys, finds shadows, walks fast, jogs and runs, looks away and acts busy to avoid _them_ and their inevitable questions.

She remains driven and serious for a long time. But the dance song rocks passionately along in her ears, and in a moment of incredible abandon, Carly cartwheels through an abandoned alley.

When she emerges, a little kid stares at her.

Carly shoots him a quick smile and jogs away. She's headed to the stables—she wants to see Kohl again, maybe ride him. She can stay on him—but barely—and everyone else seems so skilled, she'd better learn how to ride—and quick.

The stables are situated next to the palace—everything is big here, and the stables are no exception. The stalls are as big as Carly's room, and the pasture stretches far out into the distance, ending just at the edge of the forest.

Inside the stables, Carly wanders the halls. The horses are all big, too—glossy, well-fed, powerful and spirited. Carly takes an instant liking to the place—the horses, the horse smells, the straw, the general hominess of it. And the horses are all friendly.

Well, most of them.

One horse really catches her eye. A little smaller than the others—but still plenty big—it looks more built for speed and maneuvering. It's light brown, with a black mane. Carly walks up to it and offers her hand to be sniffed.

The horse sniffs it cautiously—then with the quickness of a cat, clamps her fingers in its teeth.

Carly's first instinct is to yelp and yank back, but she freezes, looking the horse in the eye. He's not actually biting down—just firm—and a very nasty glint enters it dark eye.

"_Hey_," Carly barks, lowering her voice. "No!"

The horse shifts its grip, mouthing her fingers, looking straight at her.

Carly tries to think of horse body language, but comes up empty—so she bares her teeth and snarls at it like a dog. It feels ridiculous, but she can't think of anything else, so Carly snarls as viciously as she can—leans in close to the horse and glares—desperately hopes he doesn't bite down and sever her fingers.

The horse pauses a moment—then open his mouth and snorts softly.

Carly pulls her slimy hand back, wipes it off on her jeans. "Good boy."

Carly rises up on her toes to pat his forehead. After a pause, she walks away.

It takes her a few minutes to find Kohl—he's tied up outside the stall door, his stall being cleaned by some kind of stable boy. Carly walks over, pats Kohl, takes off her hood, turns off her iPod, and waits for the stable assistant to turn around.

When he doesn't, Carly clears her throat. "Ahem. Hi."

The stable boy jumps and jerks around—eyes going huge when he sees Carly. "Greetings, My Lady," he stutters. The boy can't be over twelve. In human years, that is. But he's still as tall as she is, and a whole lot broader.

"I'm Carly," she says with a smile. "So…can I ride him?"

The stable boy walks over. "My Lady, this is Eldred's apprentice's steed."

Carly laughs nervously. "That…would be me."

The boy's eyes grow larger.

"So…what's your name?" Carly says, hoping to make at least one friend before the day is out.

The boy draws himself up. "I am Kirk Vernson, Milady."

Carly smiles warmly. "Just Carly, please. It's nice to meet you, Kirk."

Kirk nods, still looking afraid to smile.

"So…could you show me how to ride?"

Kirk considers her soberly. "You cannot ride?"

"Not very well," Carly admits.

Kirk folds his arms, taking on an air of wisdom. "Show me."

Carly looks at Kohl—he's bareback, but it seems as good a way to start as any, so she reaches up, grabs a fistful of mane, and hops on. She looks over at Kirk—his face is screwed up, clearly unimpressed. Carly sighs.

"Well, what'd I do wrong?"

Kirk shrugs.

Carly waits.

Kirk steps forward. "You should be…more graceful. And you're wearing strange clothes."

Carly laughs. "I know. I'm…I think you call it, Midgardian. So let's assume these are what I'll be riding in."

Kirk's eyes grow round, but he recovers. "Alright…Lady Carly. Dismount."

"Just. Carly!" Carly laughs, sliding down.

After just thirty minutes of working with Kirk—who turns out be a very demanding trainer—Carly is mounting and dismounting smoothly, and she and Kohl can trot, canter, and walk down the long halls. It's actually easier than Carly expected.

"Thank you," Carly says. "That was amazing. Can I come back? You're an excellent teacher."

Kirk smiles modestly. "Of course. I would be honored."

Carly smiles. Now she's got at least one friend in this place. "Y'know I'll probably be pretty busy, so I'd appreciate it if you could ride him during the day," Carly offers.

Kirk beams. "I will do so."

Carly smiles back. "Okay, well, I'm going to be late if I stay any longer. Thanks again."

Carly runs back to palace, ignoring everyone else, completely aware that she is still freak of the day. And apparently no one here has seen American clothes before. But at least she's got her music.

Carly weaves her way back through the palace, using her mind to build a map so she doesn't get lost. When she reaches her room, Eldred is just knocking.

She doesn't bring up her magic again—he'll tell her or she'll find out, either way it doesn't really matter at the moment. What she really wants to know is…what's the plan that involves three magicians? And going to Vanaheim? But she decides to stall for a moment.

"I have a question," Carly says as they walk back towards civilization. "Several, actually."

"You are welcome to inquire anything at any time, I will do my best to answer," Eldred says politely.

"Okay, thanks. So…" Carly tries to organize her thoughts and figure out the best way to put this. "Today. Well…I entered your mind."

Eldred nods. "I am aware of that."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"It was most enlightening to discover what you investigated."

Carly has no answer to that. "Then…why didn't Odin block me?"

"He was unaware of your presence."

"And Frigga?"

Eldred shakes his head. They turn a corner and tromp down stairs. "You are surprisingly unobtrusive, Lady Carly."

Carly winces. "_Please _don't call me that. It sounds _really _bad."

"As you wish. Miss Raevyn?"

Carly shakes her head. "Nope, just Carly. And by unobtrusive, do you mean that I am hard to detect, nearly impossible to detect, or somewhere in between?"

"I mean," Eldred says, opening a door, "that Loki and I are the only ones who can detect you."

Carly stops short. "What?"

"You are very powerful," Eldred says, quite simply.

"How come?" Carly blurts.

"How…come?" Eldred tastes the words, "I do not recognize that…expression."

"_Why_," Carly supplies. "_Why_ are you the only ones?"

"You cannot understand it, as of yet," Eldred sighs.

Carly tries not to make a face, and steps through the open door onto some sort of balcony.

Below them is a large courtyard, filled with _warriors_. It's slightly odd to call them that in her mind, but after watching them fight—_spar_, isn't that the term?—the name surprisingly fits.

The warriors are strong, clashing weapons with incredible power. They swing swords and spears and machete-things and other weapons at each other with seeming disregard for their partners' health and well-being—yet no one actually gets hurt.

The weapons clash and crackle with what Carly now recognizes as visible magic. It looks surprisingly like electricity, actually.

"What kind of magic is that?"

"In _time_, Carly."

Carly huffs, and goes back to watching them. They all stay upright—swords clashing—the fights end when one person is disarmed and a blade is pointed at their throat.

"That doesn't seem very realistic," Carly comments. Suddenly she seems very free with Eldred, and lets spill every thought she's had. "They should try—ground fighting. All fights end up on the ground, right? And they should use guns. And magic. They should use actual magic instead of just enchanting their weapons."

Carly pauses, and looks over at Eldred to get his reaction.

"Warriors do not practice magic. I enchanted those weapons."

Carly frowns. "What? Why not? And why no guns? You have machine-gun things."

"Aesir skin is very thick, it cannot be penetrated by mortal firearms."

"Enchant the bullets, then."

Eldred takes on a calculating look. "You will be…_enlightening_ to teach."

Carly raises her eyebrows. "Cryptic...but thank you. I think."

Eldred smiles slightly. "Do you have any other questions?"

"A gazillion!" Carly bursts, then hesitates…now is probably not the time. "Like…why are we here?"

"This is where you will begin your training."

"I thought warriors didn't practice magic."

"Some do."

"That doesn't make sense."

Eldred does not reply. Carly glances back at the warriors—and grimaces. "I'm going to suck."

"I'm sorry?" Eldred frowns.

Carly sighs. "I will not be skilled."

"You killed some of our finest warriors."

"That was Loki, not me," Carly says, before she thinks. "I mean—I—no, I did not just say that. Never mind. Forget it."

A hint of a smile creeps over Eldred's face. "You are protecting him."

"No," Carly says. "I'm most definitely not. I just, well, maybe I _did_ kill some of them."

_You may be candid with me. No harm will come to Loki. _

Eldred's voice unmistakably rings in Carly's brain.

_He was my apprentice._

Carly nods, slowly.

Eldred looks abruptly away, acting as if the conversation never occurred.

"Why do you keep calling me your apprentice?"

Eldred looks at her. "You are."

"I didn't agree to that."

Eldred frowns. "Do you wish otherwise?"

Carly hesitates, then shrugs. "No, I guess not. I mean, as long as I'm still, like, _free_, anyway."

"Then you are my apprentice."

Yet another warrior bites the dust. A huge man standing over him puts the point of a sword to his throat and demands surrender. Carly grimaces. "Come tomorrow, I will be your _very dead_ apprentice."

Unexpectedly, Eldred chuckles. "Come. I will show you the library."

When Eldred opens the huge, golden door, Carly gasps.

She cannot help it. Carly is awed—delighted—amazed.

As far as she can see, shelves and shelves of books—floor to very tall ceiling. Old books, new books, small books and humongous books, all shapes and sizes and colors and _so many_! Carly sincerely wonders if there are, perhaps, a _million books_. The golden bookcases, gilded shelves stretch out long in every direction.

Eldred sees her reaction and smiles indulgently. "You value reading?"

"I _love_ it," Carly gasps, taking a tentative step forward. "Just—just look at all the _knowledge_!"

Suddenly Carly wonders if she is maybe acting childish, and without thinking she flits quietly through Eldred's mind, looking for his reaction.

And encounters a fondness, an indulgence, and one word.

_Loki._

Carly withdraws, worried, completely forgetting the library.

"That's twice, now—that I know of," Carly says quietly.

Eldred sighs heavily. Carly waits.

"You remind me of him. On occasion."

Carly frowns. "I don't know either of you very well, but we are so _different_."

Eldred shrugs. "Yes. Completely different. But on occasion, your eyes—recall to mind another time, another place."

"And another person," Carly sighs. "What am I supposed to make of that?"

"Nothing at all," Eldred admits. "The three of us _are_ kindred."

"Not on the surface."

"The core is all that matters."

Carly nods reluctantly (_it could be true...she doesn't know them very well, yet_) and steps away, drawn again by the library. She steps close to a shelf, reading titles—not many are in English, but several are in Latin—brushing her fingers along their spines.

"For example," Eldred says quietly, "I, too, love reading. And Loki was the only one who could match my need for knowledge. Now it appears as if you are the third."

Now is the time. Carly takes a deep breath and plunges.

"The third of _what_? What plan? What's the goal? Why three magicians?"

Eldred suddenly looks old and wise. "In due time."

Carly turns around to look him in the eye.

"I need to know."

Eldred considers her.

"When you complete your apprenticeship, I will tell you."

"How long?"

"Two years."

"No."

Carly looks Eldred straight in the eye, and enters his brain.

Carly gets in easily enough, but when she searches for information concerning _The Plan_—she hits an immense, dark wall.

Carly bites her lip, and withdraws.

Thankfully, Eldred does not say a word.

Carly walks away. Eldred follows her as she wanders that aisles—she's just looking—Carly cannot _wait_ for a few hours in here. Or days. Or weeks. Years would be preferable. A delighted smile flits across her lips every time she encounters a book in English or Latin.

Finally Eldred speaks again.

"I will formally train you five days of the week. Two hours after sunrise, to one hour before sunset. I will expect you to work hard, and study harder."

Carly turns around with a slight smile. "I will look forward to it."

**A/N: Coming up next: Carly tries to make friends, and stuff goes terribly wrong, and Loki disappears and Sif's in the way (again!). **


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Yes, I missed Wednesday. You love me anyway, right? (^_^)**

**I'm also gonna miss next Monday...and next Wednesday…and next Friday…and possibly the next Monday. I'll be at another…church…camp.**

**Not loving me so much anymore?**

**Well, sorry.**

**Enjoy! :P**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Carly is up with the sun—bright, streaming in her open window, reminding her (_achingly_) of home.

She wonders how her parents are doing.

After a moment of consideration, Carly decides not to check on them. It's only been a day. She has to move on eventually. She is, after all—eighteen.

But_ two years_!

To take her mind off it, Carly rushes, and leaves her room in ten minutes. She has almost two hours before starting her training with Eldred. As much as she'd love to go back to the Library, exploring seems more immediately practical.

Like her clothes.

Carly is back in her black skinny jeans, and a plain purple t-shirt. Sneakers. And her hoodie.

Some weird instinct Carly doesn't quite understand drove her to wash off that knife, and hide it in her waistband.

Carly wanders the halls quietly, not daring to open doors, using her extrasensory sight to get a glimpse of what's behind the thick golden doors. She heads down flight after flight of gorgeous stairs. It takes her nearly twenty minutes to get a more complete mind-map of the building—it's ridiculously huge—and find another exit.

The sunrise is amazing. Unfortunately—there are actually _people_ outside.

Carly yanks up her hoodie—her clothes are going to be noticeable no matter what, and it just plain feels more cozy, like she's hidden and it's protecting her. Or something. She wanders about the streets, taking in everything. Still big and gold and gorgeous and pretty intimidating.

Carly has to admit, she's become pretty antisocial. Last night she pretty much perfected it. Running, and walking fast whenever someone looks at her too long, not really smiling, keeping her eyes averted and looking busy.

So today, Carly resolves to make friends.

She strolls the streets, smiles at everyone she sees, and tries to be friendly. It's pretty natural.

Only one—_small_—problem.

No one will even talk to her.

The kids just stare, not bothering to return her smiles. The adults smile to be polite, but it never reaches their eyes, and they stare the moment she turns her back. And it's not just avoidance—Carly sees a hint of apprehension, of—that surely isn't _fear_?!—in their mostly blue eyes.

Carly is just about ready to turn tail and run back to Eldred. Instead she walks straight up to the next lady who smiles at her—she's carrying a large basket with vegetables, and has kids scurrying around her feet. She has blond hair, blue eyes, and wrinkles around her eyes.

"Hi. I'm Carly."

The lady seems a bit taken aback by her directness, but she does answer. "Hello. My name is Katerina. I'm pleased to meet you."

"I guess you could say I'm…new around here," Carly says. "Basically? Everyone seems afraid to talk to me."

Katerina smiles—a genuine smile. "They are only intimidated."

"Intimidated?"

"You are Eldred's apprentice, are you not? You are Midgardian, are you not?"

"I fail to see how either is intimidating."

"It has been millennia since a Midgardian has set foot on Asgardian soil."

"Oh," Carly says. "So I'm different, and Asgardians can't handle it?"

Katerina turns to face her. "I will endeavor to be frank with you," she says. "Eldred has had only one apprentice before now. Loki ended up imprisoned, fortunately not executed. And you are destined to be even more powerful."

"Oh," Carly breathes. Suddenly everything makes sense.

Carly's eyes sparkle with sudden mischief, and she volleys a cryptic, sarcastic message into Loki's brain—wherever he is. She still can't get past that wall.

_Thanks a lot, Loki._

"And there is the matter of the prophecy."

Katerina frowns, and walks on.

"_Prophecy_?" Carly is instantly jolted, forgets about her little quip.

Katerina looks over at her, confused. "Surely you know."

"No…I don't think so," Carly stammers, resisting the urge to enter Katerina's brain.

From another part of her brain, Carly senses Loki, replying with pure sarcasm. Of course it's coated with fake sincerity, but by now Carly sees through it. It isn't actually too complicated.

_You are unquestionably welcome._

And something else alerts her to the fact that _someone is entering her brain_.

Before, Carly might've assumed that being a psychic herself would lend to acceptance of it.

But it is instinctive…no one is allowed to access her mind. Carly rips out the presence before it enters.

And the pain—the pain, crashing down in suffocating waves that drag Carly to her knees—and then it's over within only a few seconds.

And Carly is left with a throbbing headache. A roaring headache. The pain is dull, but it rampages around her skull.

Only after does she recognize the _someone_, as Loki.

And Carly vaguely discerns a woman—bending down—asking her something—she cannot hear over the ringing in her ears—

_Something amiss—agony—Eldred—fetch Eldred—confused—stay back!—are you well?—do you require assistance?—don't touch her!—Alfr! Come back here!—Milady?!—_

The words swirl around her, the faces blur into one and separate into many, and the ground lurches beneath her hands and knees.

And then everything clears—focuses—steadies.

Carly stumbles onto her feet, staggers around in a circle. People are circled about her, confused and worried—and scared—

Carly freezes for a half a moment—eyes wide, muscles tensed like prey—and then she explodes. Running as fast as she can—her head throbs and for one terrifying moment, _everything swirls_ and Carly thinks she's going to fall and crack her noggin—but Carly remains upright, upright and running as fast as she can, head down, people scattering to get out of her way.

If that's what happened to _her_—

Carly is not quite sure where she is going for a few minutes, so when she comes to and begins to process things—she has been going in the wrong direction.

In desperation, Carly reaches for Loki's mind. She finds nothing but a blank wall.

_Are you okay? What happened? I'm sorry…what's going on? Are you alright?_

There is no answer. Carly stops short, closes her eyes and _focuses_—strains to concentrate—collects a bit of her magic—and teleports.

Carly opens her eyes quickly, catches a bit of black, quickly fading—she's inside a building. It's all gold inside, and at first glance she would guess that it's the palace—but who knows? Carly hasn't been inside any other buildings…maybe they're all gold like this.

Carly casts her sight all around her, trying to find Loki—hopefully in one of the adjoining rooms.

He's not.

Carly reaches out to Eldred—_Do you know where Loki is, by chance?_—trying not to sound desperate and scared. The fact is, she's terrified. What if she's _killed_ him?

Eldred's answer comes back quickly. _Investigate the Library. Why?_

Carly whips around in the silent hall—that's great, now _where is she_?

After a moment, Carly gives up, and teleports to the Library.

Of course, she doesn't end up there, but it's close enough. A few halls away.

Carly considers flying—but given what happened last time—

Wait, her ribs, her ribs, her ribs! They hurt so bad before—what happened, what was different, that they stopped hurting? Why do they feel—healed?

Carly had stopped suddenly, but she starts running again. She turns a corner and runs straight into someone. In ordinary circumstances, Carly would've shrieked—today she just gasps, jumps back, and dodges the person, to keep on going.

And then she realizes who the person is.

Not Loki.

Much worse.

It's that woman. The tall one, with long straight black hair—from yesterday. The one that stopped Greyfell and grabbed Carly, and then got thrown back and knocked unconscious.

_Wonderful._

Carly gasps again and springs aside, fingers going automatically to her hidden knife. The woman sputters for only a second—then her dark eyes narrow and she steps purposefully in Carly's path.

"Who are you?"

Carly quickly steps around the woman.

The woman reaches out and grabs her by the wrist—Carly stops dead still, fights the surge, and glances back.

"Remember what happened last time?" Carly says dryly.

"I recall," the woman says tersely. "You did not answer my question."

"Nor am I obligated to do so," Carly fires back. "Who are _you_?"

"Sif," the woman replies.

Carly hesitates, then jerks her wrist free. "Carly."

"Midgardian?"

Carly scowls. "American."

Sif looks at her for a moment; then seems to shrug. "How did you get here?"

Carly growls in frustration. "I'm busy! Thrilling to talk with you, let's do again sometime. Now _goodbye_!"

From down the hall, Carly hears something big toppling—a horrendous crash—and shouts.

Sif turns back, drawing a short sword, and Carly dashes around her. The sound is coming from the Library…

Carly runs as fast as she can, and the woman jogs after her.

Carly hits the doors running, palms out, slamming one open and just squeezing in before it whams shut behind her.

And she finds absolute chaos.

The entire library is wrecked. The shelves—massive as they are, Carly would've never guessed they could even move, much less topple over—but only a few are still standing. Books are strewn _everywhere_. Far to the right, seems to be a reading or study area of some kind. With tables and chairs. And in the cream wall behind them—a large, somewhat person-shaped indentation _in the wall_.

Carly does not gasp or shriek—she just stands there for half a second, slipping her fingers around her knife, _just in case_—then lifts herself off the floor and flies across the room, landing on top of one of the tables. It only takes a quick glance to reaffirm what Carly already knows.

Loki is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

**A/N: I was looking up different names for magic users, and I guess a "mage" is a magician who does not need a staff to wield his powers, but can use just his hands. Okay, so that defines Loki, I guess. So, we'll see more of that terminology in the future.**

* * *

**ANOTHER VERY IMPORTANT THINGY I MUST TELL YA'LL EVEN IF NO ONE ACTUALLY READS THIS!**

**The 21****st**** is my birthday.**

**YEPPERS!**

**:D**

**I ****_love_**** reviews…**


	10. Chapter 9

**Thanks so much, guys! I'm back early :)**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_-~*o*~-_**LOKI POV**_-~*o*~-_

Many things had happened to Loki during his lifetime. Being the greatest mage in the nine realms wasn't exactly a feast.

But lying underneath a couple of bookcases was definitely a new one.

His first instinct would be to teleport away. Or at least get up. But Loki remains perfectly still.

It might—at the very least—be, _interesting_—if he remains undetected for a while.

He will, of course, get blamed. So may as well let them worry awhile first. Not for him—no, never for _him_. They'll worry for the nine realms.

As well they should.

Nowadays, Loki is always hidden from Heimdall. But _Eldred_…has senses. Senses that before that sorcerer's birth, had never been known to exist. Senses Loki also possesses—and hides.

But Loki is perfectly aware that as soon as Odin thinks to consult Asgard's standing Archmage, Loki will be discovered. Unless he hides himself.

So Loki gathers his magic, taking it up like folds of a gargantuan green blanket that never ends, and draws it into himself. It overflows his core, swells him like unto bursting, but with concentration he is able to condense it, and hold it inside. To Loki's knowledge, he is the only magician with any sizeable signature who can do this.

Loki casts several spells to cloak himself, and another so he can see as well as hear what goes on inside the Library. It releases a bit of the pressure—but only a small amount, and only for _now_.

The entire Library has been destroyed. It was the shockwave—the one that Loki was able to transmit into the room, rather than take its force into himself.

Such carnage—the pure shock of it would've probably killed a lesser mage.

That girl—Loki's eyes gleam, quite nastily. In all of Loki's quite expansive personal experience, he has never come across such an enigma. No being, from any realm, has remained a puzzle to Loki's eyes for more than a day.

It has been nearly two days, now, and he is no closer to prying apart her mind than when she first arrived at his cell.

Quite disconcerting.

And a Midgardian witch, no less.

That is, if she really is Midgardian. And she looks to be far more than a simple witch.

Damn her.

Of course, Loki has been watching her. Flitting from unprotected mind, to unprotected mind—always keeping tabs on the little fiend. And grudgingly—it is _good_. Whatever kind of monster it actually is, it fits very well into the skin of a young Midgardian.

Speak of the creature. Running in the door, stopping, eyes wide—then back to calculated, searching, and the girl flies across the room, landing expertly on one of the tables. Her body is tense, her fingers curled lightly around a knife. _Lightly_. The grip is an expert one, and Loki's mind swirls with calculations, with unease.

But her eyes—those grey things, frustrating enough by their own guardedness, not to mention that they can't seem to decide if they're green or blue—her eyes are cool and distant.

With somewhat of a jolt, Loki realizes that they are _seeing_.

And the girl glances at the bookcase under which he is hidden.

There is no possibility under Yggdrasil that this girl—_is it even a girl?_—is Midgardian.

**How can she possibly ****_see him_****?**

_No one_ should be able to see him right now. He's—completely concealed. Right?

Loki's eyes narrow into slits, and dagger shimmers into existence inside his hand.

The girl hops easily off the table—the same door bursts open, and Sif charges in like a mad dog. Really, the Shield Maiden has no sense of tact. A sneer briefly curls Loki's lips.

Sif stands there dumbly—but the girl picks her way across the room, stepping neatly over piles of books, and leaping over bookcases—seeming to transport herself around the room without much strain. If any. And she's heading straight for him.

Her strategy is definitely working. What was it she said, during yesterday's craziness? _They will go crazy trying to figure out who I am._

It's definitely driving _him_ mad, not knowing who she is. And so far—nothing has worked. Her mind is sealed—seemingly without cracks. Every trick Loki knows—everything that's ever worked in the past—has utterly failed with this creature.

And when—in desperation—he tried to access the conscious part of her mind—he ended up under a bookcase. And the Library got destroyed in the process.

Pity.

The girl has nearly reached his bookcases, and for a split second he considers telling her to ignore him—but, no. Even the _pretense_ of allying with her disgusts him.

_What was Eldred thinking? _She is undoubtedly a master of magic, if not something more, under pretense.

And Loki has a large list of enemies.

But Loki waits—cautiously—ready to wink out of this plane of existence if trouble arises.

And the far door crumbles from a single, powerful blow.

The girl jumps—a shield wraps her as she spins to face the door—and there he is. Thor. Mjolnir ready for a fight. "Lady Carly," he booms, taking in the mess. "Lady Sif. Where is my brother?"

A bitter remark rises to counter, but Loki checks it and waits.

"I do not know." Sif walks towards him, as if ready to leave, eying Carly with barely veiled suspicion.

"I will find Eldred," Thor booms.

"Don't. Loki is here," Carly says flatly.

Loki's face twists into a smile, watching how they stare at her. The skepticism on their arrogant faces is rather hard to miss.

"I know you can hear me," Carly says calmly.

Loki's eyebrows lift slightly—that innocent, incredulous mask habitual by now.

The girl—_Lady Carly, what a fop, she's_ _probably a servant of Thanos_—turns to halfway face both his position, and Thor.

"I don't care what anybody says to anybody and what kind of nerve it strikes," she says, firmly and clearly. "This is my fault alone, and there will be _no fighting_."

Loki releases his knife back into dimensional storage, and shimmers away. The crushing pressure of the bookcases is released as Loki rematerializes behind Thor. Leaning on the wall casually, arms folded, mouth tugged into a veiled smirk. Eyes unapologizingly roguish.

Calculated to enrage Thor.

But the effect is slightly spoiled—because those unnervingly clever grey eyes are fixed directly on his, even before he fully materializes. Loki allows his eyes to gleam threateningly for a moment—the girl does not react in the slightest. Sif starts upon seeing him, and Thor turns, and instantly the mask is back.

Loki raises an eyebrow, mocking just as well without words.

"What have you done?" Thor roars at him.

Loki waits just long enough to thoroughly annoy Thor before replying.

"Clearly I have successfully transmitted a shockwave, which just so happened to knock everything over in its path. If you lack something productive to do, I suggest you go liberate that person under the bookcase."

Thor's face screws up in confusion.

"Transmitted a _what_?" Sif barks.

"Did I not just inform you that someone is in immediate peril? Go protect the Nine Realms," Loki drawls.

Even Thor cannot miss the sarcasm, although it never enters Loki's actual tone. Still looking ridiculously befuddled, Thor steps back, and turns around. "This is not over, brother. Which bookcase?"

"Why don't you smash them all?"

Sif steps towards the carnage rather gingerly, as one not sure where to start, and speaks sharply. "We have no time for your mischief, Loki. Which bookcase?"

"So noble of you. Don't you want to know who? Make sure they are worth your trouble?"

In Loki's peripheral vision, Carly shifts her weight—folds her arms—he glances over, catching the slight eye-flutter of annoyance. And a bookcase across the room lifts into the air, and lands elsewhere—revealing an older scholar.

And the fun was just starting!

Being Aesir, the man gets up slowly and brushes himself off. With a glance at the four of them, he hurries out of the room, looking horror-struck.

Sif and Thor both turn, and look at Loki. Well, if they think he did it—may be a good time to leave anyway.

"Well, now that that's out of the way! I suppose you can go Realm-conquering now. Do have fun!"

Loki grins wickedly, turns and walks towards the door. It will leave _that girl_ to explain everything—and hopefully she'll get thrown in the dungeons—which would really make his life so much easier—

Thor steps forward and grabs Loki's arm.

Loki stops, turns slightly. "Now, really, Thor. How cliché."

"You are not departing until you explain this," Thor thunders.

With a practiced twist Loki is free, but he cannot leave now—it would be running away. Besides—it might be interesting to see how many yarns this oaf will fall for.

"Now I wouldn't go down _that_ particular road, if I were you," Loki says. "And thank the Norns I am _not_ you. Have you really such a terrible memory?"

"What has happened?" Thor roars. Frustration is written all over his features—not so much with the situation, as with Loki.

"Oh, I don't know. It's certainly not _my_ problem," Loki mocks.

"It's my fault."

The voice rings through the room, cleanly cutting them apart. The girl. That detestable little wretch. Arms folded, posture straight, eyes determined—waiting for the axe to fall.

"I'm not sure what exactly happened, but I was the instigator."

"You weren't even here," Sif snaps, looking back and forth between Loki and the girl, her mind visibly swarming. "I don't know what kind of trick you're pulling, but— Thor. You must do something. Call Eldred or Odin or Heimdall, but by Valhalla something is off and I will not stand to see Asgard fall! You must lock them up at once."

"Oh yes, excellent, Sif. Are you so incapable of keeping your thoughts to yourself? Not only is that a terrible stratagem, _talking_ showcases your repulsively low intellect. In the future, kindly remember that I prefer my airspace unpolluted by your blathering."

Sif flushes angrily. "Perhaps you need your mouth sewed shut again."

"Low of you, considering. But the circumstances are quite incomparable. So yet again, our _dear_ Lady Sif fails to insult me."

"Loki," Thor growls.

"Yes, that _is_ my name. You actually _remembered_. Bra-vo."

"Do you mind dropping that act for a minute to answer a question?" the girl says dryly.

Loki's expression does not change, but the corner of his eyes tighten, ever so slightly. Everyone is quiet, so the girl continues.

"Assuming that I created the shockwave, why was it so powerful? Was it amplified or muted by travelling through you? Was the force lethal? And how do you channel it?"

"That's more than one question, however if you were mortal I would love to see your brain implode, how unfortunate that you are not. Put simply, you overreacted—sending a shockwave directly to my brain. It was very lethal. I broke contact quickly and channeled what I did receive out into the room. I could not help absorbing some of it—resulting in a horrible headache. This prattling on is definitely not helping. On the other hand, any _mortal_ would've died instantaneously. So perhaps it is _you_ who should 'drop the act'. Why don't you drop the glamour, too?"

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter! That one was FUN to write!**

**Well, there's some changes coming up: In JULY, I'm participating in Camp NaNoWriMo (google it, it's awesome, recommend for all writers!). **

**Anyway. I'm working on a real book, and I won't have time for this or my other story. **

**I'm going to try to get ahead, enough to update ONE chapter a week (Fri). **


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N:**

**To all my American readers: HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!**

**To my British readers: *throws a firecracker at you* (laughs like a maniac)**

**To my readers from the rest of the world: YOU'RE WELCOME! (We know we're awesome. Except for our president. He's not. He's definitely not. For him, we're sorry.)**

**:D**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_-~*o*~-_**CARLY**_-~*o*~-_

Carly remains still, eyes fixed on Loki's.

He's good.

_Really_ good.

Now Thor and Sif think she's not even _human_. Much less an eighteen-year-old human girl named Carly Raevyn with weird powers.

Even Carly can admit, it looks rather suspicious.

But she didn't even want to come to Asgard! How can Loki explain that? Just more acting?

"I'm not acting, and I don't even know what a glamour _is_," Carly says calmly. "But thank you for explaining."

It feels like she is tied to a woodpile, covered in tar, soaked in gasoline—and Loki is giving out torches.

So Carly calls out for the only ally she has in this Realm. Eldred.

_You need to come to the Library, _right now_!_

Loki does not move either. His eyes narrow at her, ever so slightly.

It's pretty disconcerting.

Without warning, a knife appears in Loki's hand, and Carly's eyes cannot even track with the speed he rears back to throw it. But the second she senses _movement_ Carly jumps to the side without half-thinking. The next instant a shield materializes around her and the knife flies past.

But another one is already whistling through the air and Carly reaches out for it. It comes to a swift halt, hanging in the air, and whooshes to fit neatly in Carly's hand. The next knife is already in the air and Carly whips around in a circle, avoiding the knife, jockeying for a good position to counterattack.

It is all so instinctive she barely has time for two thoughts: _What is going on? Is Loki really trying to kill her?_

Carly has only just whipped around, back to face Loki, when the next knife is right in front of her. It is perfectly accurate. Time seems to slow as the knife cartwheels to imbed itself firmly in her heart.

But when the knife-tip is millimeters from striking her, it flies back across the room. It imbeds itself in the wall, up to the hilt, right above Loki's throwing shoulder.

With one swift movement, Carly throws the other knife. Her aim is nowhere near perfect so she uses her mind to guide it—it passes through the air, Loki jerks his head aside—Carly lets the knife continue in a straight trajectory, and it hits the wall with a loud thunk.

Leaving everyone speechless.

Thor and Sif just stare, as if unable to believe what just happened. It's not like they even _know_ what just happened. Carly certainly doesn't. She stands there panting—waiting—watching Loki—trying to understand.

Loki holds his position for a moment—then reaches up with both hands and yanks the knives out of the wall. They landed firmly on either side of his head.

"Yes. Very rare skills, _Lady Raevyn_. Tell me—how did you come across them?"

In one hot, horrible moment, Carly hates Loki with all her heart and soul.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Sif and Thor exchange a swift, loaded glance. Carly sets her jaw and glares at Loki.

"You understand, it is very suspicious," Sif says softly. Hesitantly. As if she loathes agreeing with Loki.

"If what my brother says is true, we will find out," Thor adds.

"Oh really?" Carly snaps. There is so much she wants to say—but she doesn't want to look stupid so she bites her tongue, and spits out "Well, it's not true!"

"Very peculiar for a Midgardian," Loki says, eyes narrowed.

"_Do_ tell me how you arrived at this conclusion. How would you know what is peculiar for an _American_? Last time you were on our planet, you seemed to think we would _welcome_ you as _king_," Carly spits. "Not to mention the little part about you arriving in Germany and addressing a crowd in English. And severely underestimating the prowess of the Avengers, which uh, kind of led to you _losing_. I conclude, you know nothing at all about the people of Earth!"

"My knowledge of an inferior people is highly unrelated," Loki says smoothly. "No Midgardian possesses such…powers."

"Apparently so," Carly growls.

"Carly," Thor says hesitantly.

"What?" Carly snaps.

"Why cannot you reveal yourself? Asgard is quite safe," Thor says.

"Really, Thor. Must you always think the best of others? _She_ is not in danger." Loki is clearly annoyed that Thor has missed his point. Carly just laughs.

"Clearly. I've only had, what now, seven or eight attempts on my life in two days? Not to mention you two fighting, Sif trying to control me, antisocial Asgardians, and a vicious horse trying to bite my fingers off."

At her last comment, amusement sparkles unabashed in Loki's green eyes. Carly takes careful note. As soon as Loki discovers her eyes watching his, he gives her a cold stare.

Carly does not look away.

_Eldred?_

The door opens, and Eldred strides in. His posture is perfect and his face collected. He takes in the entire scene and does not even twitch.

Relief sweeps over Carly like sunrise. She steps back almost subconsciously—allowing Eldred to take over the situation—resolve things—help her out—to figure out things she doesn't understand—

"You're late."

Eldred speaks—eyes fixed only on her, firm and disapproving.

Carly's eyes widen. "Late? Late for…oh." Training. That's right. Sparring or whatever. She glances down at her watch—yep, nearly an hour late.

"That is highly unacceptable."

Eldred's firm grey eyes meet hers, and Carly bites her tongue. She has good reasons—very good reasons—but something warns her not to make excuses. "Oh. Sorry," she says.

Eldred's grey eyes change for half an instant—relief?—and he clasps his hands behind his back. "Go. Run."

Carly nods, glances at Loki—his face is an emotionless mask—strengthens the shield that encases her, and runs out of the Library.

As she jogs, Carly consciously accesses her memory and charts the fastest path to the sparring courtyard. Then she puts her head down and really runs. An even pace, but fast. Thank goodness Carly is fairly fit. She would try to teleport—or maybe fly—but Eldred expressly told her to "run"—not just hurry—and there must be a reason for it.

Carly ends up in the balcony they stood on the night before. The courtyard is already full, and the becoming-familiar sounds of clashing swords and crackling magic fill the air. It takes her a few minutes to find a way down to ground level. Then she just stands there watching. There is a rack of weapons nearby, and some targets and straw dummies, but she would rather wait for instruction from Eldred. Everyone who sees her recoils in shock, then points her out to the people around them.

Carly simply watches. She is not only soaking up techniques, but also the culture of the place. And learning names. And the weird, archaic structure of the way they use the English language. Filing it all away for later. Eldred has still not arrived, and Carly puzzles over his reaction. Yes, she was late—but she told him where she was, asked him to come, barely escaped with her life, and had a really good excuse.

So…was he at mad at her for basically destroying the Library?

Surely that could be fixed. She could probably do it herself. Except for the destroyed books. But still, his reaction was kind of odd.

"Milady, are you in the correct location?"

Carly jolts back into the here & now. The speaker is a young man bedecked in armor, holding a sword.

"Um…yeah. Thanks." Carly gives him a slight smile and goes back to watching the warriors.

After a pause, the man steps closer to her, smiles deeply and bows at the waist. He has blond, floppy styled hair and a small blond beard. "I am Fandral the Dashing. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Milady."

Carly struggles to keep a straight face—_Fandral the Dashing_?

"Carly," she says dryly.

Fandral beams like she's given him a wonderful gift. Incredulous, Carly checks the surrounding area for a group of guys who are oh-so-not subtly hanging about—no dice.

"So did someone dare you or are you just a flirt?" Carly asks, straight-faced.

_Fandral the Dashing_ recoils in shock and Carly almost explodes with mirth. If she had to guess, Carly probably just violated the unspoken rule of Maidenly Behavior for Asgardians. Most likely they flutter demure eyelashes behind fans, too.

"I—I," Fandral sputters.

"Ok, you're just a flirt. Well, I'm not interested. I'm here to learn, so if you can teach me something I don't already now, let's move on then shall we? I really don't need more practice in calling a dog a dog. Not to say that you're a dog, or anything. Of course."

At the last bit Carly cannot suppress a smile. Fandral is bright red and fidgeting.

Carly senses movement behind her and reacts. Yes, she was just teasing an Asgardian warrior, and yes, she was relaxed. But movement behind her—and Carly is instantly transformed. She never quite understood the fight-or-flight response before now. Her protective shield has been kept in place since the moment she left the Library. Adrenaline spikes her blood faster than she would've believed possible and Carly spins—knife out and ready to murder.

Behind her is a very large, fully bearded man. Fully dressed in Asgardian armor, with long, curly red hair.

But what registers is the fact that he's not attacking her. Not trying to kill her—or hurt her—or do _anything_. The look on his face is one of surprise.

And somewhere a bell goes off in her mind. As Carly breathes easier, lowers her knife and tries to pretend that she did not just overreact. At the same time everything clicks into place—and Carly realizes who this man is.

He's the dude who chased her into the dungeon, yelled at her to stop and tried to knock her out by whacking her over the head. And then she slammed him back head-first into the wall and temporarily stole his sword.

"Well. At least you didn't die," Carly says dryly.

The man's eyes get even wider, if possible.

"I am actually _not_ going to apologize. You attacked me without provocation. And I'll have you know that it is not a good idea to walk up behind me, either. And I will not warn you again."

Carly tucks the knife back in her waistband.

"Milady," the man gasps, apparently unable to formulate a more intelligent response.

Carly rolls her eyes. "_My name_ is Carly."

The man quickly bows as low as he can with his ample stomach. "Of course! And I, am Volstagg the Valiant."

"A more fitting title would be Volstagg the Voluminous," says an amused voice behind her. Oh, right. She'd forgotten that _Fandral the Dashing_ was there. Well, he _is_ very large.

"I see." Her tone is quite cold. Carly isn't quite sure what has come over her—but being startled like that, after being constantly on the run, and then Loki trying to kill her just now—and just everything being so different and worrying about her parents back home and worrying about how she's going to survive the rest of the day—it's just all getting to her. And she's scared and in real danger of getting hurt or killed—and her life before was so safe and sheltered. So she's more than a little unprepared.

It hardly matters though—Carly turns and walks away, past them both towards the courtyard. She find a strategically placed wall to protect her back and leans against it, trying to collect her scattered nerves and frayed thoughts—ugh, now she can't even think straight. Carly tentatively makes sure her shield is still in place—it still seems to be holding without any kind of effort.

So many questions. Carly cannot even begin to list the whirlwind of questions that are constantly in her mind, constantly on the tip of her tongue, driving her crazy.

She's supposed to be learning—if not sparring herself, maybe some target practice or try out different weapons—or even just watching the others. But Carly does not care. She strengthens her shield, closes her eyes, enjoys the sun on her face, and relaxes.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: ****tywingfieldtbs42 has informed me that I did not include Canadians in my last A/N.**

* * *

**To all my Canadian readers: We've got the longest undefended border in the world! *high fives* :D**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Carly is left completely alone. Her eyes are still closed when Eldred walks up.

She is completely, fully aware of exactly where he is. And everyone else that she cares to check on—as well as many others that she doesn't. And it's very scary.

Sure, Carly knew that she could, like, save her phone. For instance. But the question burning in her mind is—well, Eldred's right there. So without even opening her eyes, she asks him.

"Am I really that powerful, or have I just happened to try things I am capable of?"

After a pause, Carly opens her eyes and releases her various extrasensory views. It's a bit comforting—familiar—to actually see one thing at a time, with your real eyes. Carly studies Eldred's face. It's tired—lined—wise and old and comforting.

Eldred considers her question for much longer than seems necessary before replying. Even then he sighs heavily. "I am unsure how to approach this because of your complete ignorance," he says hesitantly.

Carly waits.

"You are that powerful."

Carly looks down. _With great power must come great responsibility…_

She's freakin' eighteen years old! And by no means ready for any kind of…power. But…better her than someone else, right? Someone _worse_?

Eldred continues quietly. "Carly…"

Carly looks up into his eyes—questioning, accepting, anticipating. Eldred steps closer, takes a breath and finishes.

"You are the most powerful mage I have ever encountered."

"Mage?" Carly frowns, puzzled.

"A magician who does not need a staff to channel magic, but use their hands. In your case—the mind alone. The only other mages with this capability are myself, and Loki. We both find it easier to use our hands. From my observations, you may find it easier to use your mind."

Carly thinks for a moment—yes, she used her hands, but only when it felt natural to do so—like throwing Volstagg against the wall, or knocking down the guards—and even then, Carly feels sure she didn't _need _to make the motion—

"So…you and Loki are also mages. Then…if I am the most powerful…" Something clicks in Carly's mess of a brain and she surges ahead with her question. "The plan, Eldred. Two already in place, and if I'm the third, the most powerful—" Carly's mind whirls with possibilities.

"What's the Plan?"

Eldred sighs, lips pursed tight. "I have informed you that you shall in due time."

"What if I don't want to be here without knowing why?"

Amusement crinkles the corners of Eldred's blue eyes. "But you do want to be here."

Carly scowls at him. "Yes, unfortunately I do. But seriously. I hate running into things blind, and that's all I've been doing since I got here—rolling with the punches."

Eldred looks puzzled, and Carly waves her hand. "Just whatever. Tell me."

Eldred's face becomes closed. "We are here to practice marksmanship."

Carly sets her jaw and glares at him, promising revenge as he continues—"I think the knives are a good choice."

Carly rolls her eyes. "Well, only if I can't use guns like your average, everyday person looking to murder."

"True power is having every reason to kill someone, and then sparing them," Eldred says soberly.

Carly raises her eyebrows—"Nice quote but I was kidding. The only person I'd kill is, like,_ you_. And if I killed you for not telling me, I'd never know, right?"

Eldred seemingly decides to ignore her comments—he steps forward towards the weapons rack and beckons her to follow him. Carly gets off the wall, flips her hair back and unconcernedly follows him. Of course she's terrified that she'll do horribly, and it'll be awful and embarrassing…

The warriors instantly clear out of the way when Eldred and Carly approach. Carly ignores them all—not pointedly or mean, but rather carefree and breezy. Their opinion truly does not matter to her; it looks as if her companions are already set in stone. So she is only thinking of the general population's opinion right now—and not very hard, either.

Right now, she just has to work on marksmanship. It should be a breeze. After all, it's practically impossible to miss—with her mind guiding the trajectory of every dagger, all Carly has to do is make sure she throws the knife in the right direction.

The rack of weapons seems to be pretty much untouched—it seems like everyone's already equipped with a sword or spear or two. There are only a three daggers, placed in the lower left corner almost as an afterthought. And no one seems to be using them.

Carly carefully scoops up the daggers—one is quite large, one middle-sized and the other tiny. The blades are metal—no, they seem to be hewn of a strange stone—and the handles are shiny black. The large knife a black gemstone on the hilt. They seem almost alive in her hands—Carly quickly glances up at Eldred. No, she's not imagining it. They are reacting to her—or, they were. There was a slight hum and a fading warmth and now they're just—comfortable.

"They're made of Uru," Eldred says quietly. "A stone with the properties of metal. They are enchanted by the dwarves, to react only to your magic."

Carly frowns instantly. "How can these…dwarves, enchant something to react with my magic when they've never encountered my magic?"

Eldred clams up. "To react to your particular amount of power."

"I don't believe you," Carly mutters, studying the knives in her hand. From everything she's ever heard, magical ability is supposed to grow or expand—and something that she could technically "outgrow" would be useless.

It's not the strangest thing she's ever seen. But she isn't swallowing the dwarf-enchanting story. Maybe they _were_ enchanted by dwarves to react to her—but Eldred is definitely lying/omitting details about the means.

"Good," Eldred says quietly, almost pleasantly.

"Whatever," Carly says. "Wait, didn't you say you'd do your best to answer my questions, or something?"

"I did," Eldred says.

"Then why aren't you?"

"I am," Eldred says.

Carly scowls, "You're _not_."

"All will become clear in time," Eldred says.

"That is so cliché."

"May I remind you that we are here to practice?"

Wordlessly, Carly walks towards the targets. There are many idle warriors hanging about, and they're frankly horrible at pretending to be preoccupied. It only adds to her annoyance, and she barely restrains an eye-roll. These people probably wouldn't even understand the gesture—they'd think she was checking the condition of the sky, looking for enemies, or something equally ridiculous.

The first target is about three or four yards away. Carly puts the large and medium knives in her belt, and throws the small one without much thought. Something goes clearly wrong. Without her mind, the knife wouldn't have even hit the target.

Eldred silently joins her, and shows her how to hold the knife properly. It works a little better, but she still has to guide it with her mind.

"Stop using telekinesis," Eldred says.

"Why?"

"You may be unable to utilize its powers in the future."

"What, you know something I don't?" Carly growls—then she nearly laughs, because there is _so much_ Eldred knows that she doesn't. Carly reaches out to grab the knives and return them to her hand.

A second later, she's marveling at the knives. They're enchanted all right. Not only did they fly to her hand much faster, they positioned themselves in the air so she caught handle, not blade. Carly had grabbed all three, thinking she would suspend one in the air while placing the large knife in her belt. Through no conscious thought, the knives did exactly what she wanted—the small knife fitting neatly into her left hand, the middle easily coming to rest in her right, and the large one perfectly positioned in her designer belt.

Wow. Carly cannot help a slight smile. "Well, these are pretty slick," she says.

Then she hears the low muttering behind her, and without thinking Carly turns to look. Everyone is keeping an eye peeled for her. Quick glances her way between sword-thrusts, hidden looks from the idle warriors, and the young pages and servants most definitely staring. And the idle warriors are exchanging nervous, hurried words in low, quiet voices.

Carly turns back to Eldred. "What'd I do?"

Eldred's mouth is set in a thin, firm line. "You? You're not hiding your magic."

"Nor do I plan on it," Carly says sharply. If Eldred's irritated at her for not hiding her magic, well, he can go to hell. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it!

"Good." Eldred turns sharply. "Keep the knives and follow me."

Carly considers pocketing the small knife, but it's absolutely razor-sharp and she doesn't want a hole in her jeans. So she puts all three in her belt—bringing the total count to four—and catches up to Eldred.

They walk right past the biggest group of warriors. Carly keeps her head high, her posture confident, her face carefree, and her eyes bright and spirited. A nice combination, and it's not exactly acting—she's just staying aware of how she looks to the world.

Eldred keeps walking until they have left the sparring area behind. Carly walks next to him silently. So…he's mad at the warriors for being scared of Carly? Heck, _Carly's_ scared of Carly!

Eldred seems to be keeping his own counsel, so Carly pays attention to the streets around them. Asgard is big. The people tower over her, but she's used to that—and the golden buildings are huge. Well, there are smaller buildings too, but they all seem large to Carly. Horses seem to be the main form of transportation. They pass the marketplace—red flushes Carly's cheeks. How many people will remember? Probably all of them. And they'll be sure to pass it on, too—how often does a Midgardian sorceress collapse in the street?

Katerina, wasn't that her name? She did speak English, at the very least—wait, so did that warrior. And Loki and Thor and Odin and Frigga and Eldred and Heimdall and—wait.

"What is official language of Asgard?" Carly blurts.

"The language of the Realms is Engelsk," Eldred says, after a pause. "Asgardians speak Norse as well."

"Ing-yexs?" Carly trips over the strange word and makes a face.

"You call it 'English'."

Carly pauses. "Okaaay…so why, exactly, have the Nine Realms adopted our language when we're supposedly, like, inferior? And what are these Realm-things anyway? Are you saying there's like, nine separate worlds?"

"Engelsk has always been the official language. It keeps order. Midgardians decide to borrow it. There are Nine Realms connected to Yggdrasil."

So many questions rush to Carly's mind that her head spins. And as long as Eldred's actually answering her—"Are there any Realms that aren't connected to Yggdrasil? What is this…Yggdrasil thing? So that's Nine races? Nine worlds? Um, you guys are Aesir…we're humans…there's, um Frost Giants or Jotuns, and uh, Vanir? Didn't you say something about dwarves? What about the other four?"

"Yggdrasil is the World Tree. You saw a tiny replica when the Bifrost was activated. Eight races. Nine homeworlds. Nine Realms."

"Okay, I'm officially confused. _What?_"

Eldred sighs, exasperated, and pushes open a door. Carly recognizes the building as the main palace, and steps inside after her teacher.

"Come."

Carly follows. "Why can't we teleport to wherever we're going?"

"That part of your training has not yet begun. We go to repair the Library. There, I will endeavor to explain the Universe to you."

Carly shrugs and follows. Hopefully Loki, Thor and Sif have cleared out by now.

When they arrive, the Library is empty. Eldred uses magic to fix the torn and crushed books, and Carly uses her telekinesis to replace the bookshelves. It takes a surprisingly small amount of time to repair the place.

After, Eldred peruses the shelves with the air of one experienced. Carly shadows him—noting his walk, his body language, the way his eyes flit back and forth among the books. She also keeps seeing books that are written in English—or whatever Eldred said, _Ing-yaks_ or whatever. Maybe before, she was just in the wrong section?

The book Eldred pulls off the shelf is not English. It is very thick and quite large. When Eldred sets it on a table and opens it to the middle, Carly gasps. It's a _living book_—no, it's a hologram set inside book covers—no, it's a real book but it's moving and doing cool things?!

Inside the book is a picture of a very intricate tree. When Eldred opens the book, the tree seems to take on a three-dimensional form—less like a picture and more like a real, miniature tree lying among blocks of text. As Carly watches, Eldred waves his fingers over the tree and _it turns_. Carly stands there with her mouth hanging open for a second; then she realizes that it's not really that special. Tablets have the same kind of technology—heck, the phone in her pocket has a better screen!

"This is the World Tree, Yggdrasil," Eldred says softly.

What's special about the book (other than the fact that it's a book with apparently screen-less holograms) is the illustrations itself. Carly pulls out a chair and sits down to get a closer look at the tree. At first glance it's just a tree—drawn up intricately, but still just a tree. But as Carly studies the branches, she recognizes planets drawn in among them. There's nine. A few she can barely see—they seem to be on the other side of the tree—but the ones closest to her are "Vanaheim" and "Muspelheim". Muspelheim is reddish-orangish, and it's glowing slightly—like a fire.

Carly tentatively hovers her fingers over "Muspelheim" and spreads them apart to "zoom in". It doesn't work. Carly huffs and turns to Eldred. "Okay, so what can you tell me about—first of all how the heck do you pronounce that?"

"Muspelheim."

"MOO-spell-hame?" Carly can't get the word to roll easily from her mouth. "Okay. So what kind of creatures live there?"

Instead of answering, Eldred takes her hand and presses it over the drawing of—Yggdrasil. At first Carly is a bit worried she'll smash the tree, because it looks so real—but the page is completely flat. And warm. As Carly's hand rests on the page, it gets warm. And her hand tingles.

Then, abruptly, the tingling-warm feeling is gone. Eldred removes his hand and Carly slowly follows suit.

"The book will now react to your magic," Eldred says quietly, closing the volume. "Most of these books hold the same potential. Place your hand on the cover until the magical energy subsides."

Carly nods, and Eldred slides the book over to her. Movement flickers in Eldred's left hand, and out of the corner of her eye Carly see something white _appear_ in his hand. Carly jerks her head up, eyes wide—paper! Just—materialized! In Eldred's hand!

"How did you do that?" Carly breathes. "Did it—_come_ from somewhere? Or did you just _make it_?"

Eldred places the stack of paper on the table, and a pot of ink and quill pen appears next to it. Carly gapes.

"I have just retrieved these items from dimensional storage," Eldred explains.

"Um, 'kay. What's that?"

"Write it down. Your lesson for today is to read through that book and write down any and all questions you have."

"Uhh, I can't read whatever that language was."

"The book is reacting to you now." Eldred opens the volume, and the words are now in English. "I trust you can travel back to your quarters?" At her nod, Eldred walks out of the Library.

Carly eyes the pot of ink and quill with serious misgivings. Couldn't he have fetched a ballpoint pen from Midgard? Why didn't she think to bring her own? With this contraption, she'll probably make a horrible mess and blotch ink all over the paper. And what if she knocks it over? Besides, Carly has so many questions she has no idea where to start.

Carly grabs the book and opens it to the first page. She gets about a half-sentence into it before something distracts her. Just something off—something warning her—an uneasy feeling—hair stands up on the back of her neck and she gets the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of _being watched_.

Carly looks up. She's sitting in about the middle of the study area. She mentally runs through the room—there are four doors, one in each wall. Most of the space consists of bookshelves, but in her corner of the room there is a study area with chairs and tables.

Carly gets up quickly, more by instinct than anything else, and glances over her shoulder. Of course nothing is actually there. But either way, Carly doesn't want to sit back down. Her seat is too out in the open, and her back is anything but protected.

Well, she's officially paranoid now. But at least Carly has good reasons.

The best strategic seat is the chair in the corner, at a table of four. Her back would be protected and she'd have a good view of the rest of the room—Carly sticks her paper inside her book, grabs it and the ink, and walks towards the chair. Carly reaches out to search the room. Just to make sure she's not imagining things.

The room seems to be completely empty. There's no one browsing the shelves. No one near the doors. No one is even walking in or out. No one is even in the halls immediately outside. And as for the study area—Carly stops short. Literally. She is so shocked she cannot help it.

Someone is seated in the very chair Carly just picked out.

Someone invisible.

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**A/N: I'm sure you know who this person is. ;) **


	13. I'M SO SORRY but this is an AN

A/N:

* * *

I am sooo sorry that this isn't a chapter. *crys* But I have to tell you guys that I'm going on indefinite HIATUS.

The real problem is not really knowing what's going to happen :) And I have to do some serious world-building and even more serious character-building instead of just plunging into things randomly. Also I have stop reading everyone else's stuff because your brill ideas are going to creep into my stories if I don't watch myself.

But I PROMISE I'm coming back!

and THANK YOU! You guys totally made this worth it for me and I'm totally going to bust my tail trying to whip these ideas into a good story.

* * *

Can I do a quick shoutout before I go?! ;) Well, there's this story called Changing Fate by melWinter and it's AMAZING. ;)


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